They Say that Suicide is Painless
by Face of Poe
Summary: Hawkeye draws aid station duty during a fight that goes poorly for the Americans. The forces retreat- and can't find Hawkeye Pierce among them. His fate is unknown to the 4077th. Warning: References to suicide attempts.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Seeing as M*A*S*H started running 17 years before I was born, I think it's safe to say that I do not own it. 0:-)

**Part I**

_15 December 1952_

The phone rang at 3:30 in the morning, jolting a dozing Father Mulcahy from a fitful slumber in the hard and uncomfortable clerk's chair; across the room, Corporal Max Klinger sat bolt upright in his cot. The two exchanged the briefest of fearful glances.

"I'll get it, Klinger," Father Mulcahy muttered, sleep and worry depriving him of his usual buoyant and reassuring tone. He gingerly picked up the headset. "Four-oh-seven-seventh MASH," he spoke clearly but with a mild tremor.

Klinger watched with bated breath, already fastening the laces on his boots, readying himself to relay news, good or bad, to Colonel Potter. It was a short conversation though.

"Yes, of… of course, Major," Father Mulcahy stammered, putting down the headset. He turned to Klinger, eyes wide. "He wants to speak with Colonel Potter. No one else, he says." Again, they exchanged loaded glances, before Klinger tore from the office and dashed across the compound to their commanding officer's tent. Father Mulcahy crossed himself and sent a fast and silent prayer upwards.

Seconds later, the colonel charged into the room with Klinger fast on his heels. Not bothering with the private connection in his own office, he snatched the headset from Klinger's desk, waving off the priest as he made to vacate the chair.

"Colonel Sherman Potter here… yes, that's right. You found-? Oh. Mm-hm. Yes. Yes, I see, Major. And the building itself…? Alright. Thank you, Major, I know you're busy. I appreciate you getting back to us so soon. Please let us know if you find…" He paused for a long time, and closed his eyes. "Yes, I understand. Of course. Thank you, Major."

He put the set down and clicked off the connection. The silence in the office was thicker than ever before as Father Mulcahy and Klinger waited for him to say something.

"Klinger," Colonel Potter finally said, sounding subdued, "Assemble the officers- Hunnicut, Winchester, Houlihan. Don't bother the rest of the nurses at this hour."

"Yes, sir," he dashed out the door, and Father Mulcahy looked with trepidation up at the colonel.

"Bad news, Colonel?"

Colonel Potter sighed. "It ain't good news, Padre."

Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene.

"What do you mean, they've done all they can?"

"Hunnicut…"

"No, Colonel! I don't believe that. It's dark outside, it'd be near impossible to search everywhere and everything…"

"If he was wounded…" Charles broke in hesitantly. B.J. cut him off.

"He said the aid station was intact!"

"B.J.!" Colonel Potter looked hopelessly at the distraught head nurse, the deflated Winchester, and the defiant young surgeon who refused to believe what he was hearing. Klinger and Father Mulcahy sat with vacant and disbelieving expressions. "Listen to me. The battalion has done what it can. They beat the North Koreans back beyond their prior position, but the enemy advanced through our original line. The entire area was overrun for at least an hour. If Pierce didn't make it out on a vehicle of some sort, he'd have been forced to make it on foot, and the likelihood of that…"

"Don't say it!" B.J.'s words sounded harsh even in his own ears, but he was not about to hear that his best friend was likely dead.

"Son," his voice lowered a bit, and he gripped B.J.'s shoulder tightly. "They found his dog tags in the aid station."

Silence reigned supreme at that proclamation. Finally, Father Mulcahy ventured to speak. "Just his dog tags, sir?" he asked and winced.

B.J. looked around. Margaret looked stricken at that knowledge, and she and Colonel Potter shared a look of despair. "What?" he demanded. "So what? They could have fallen, a wounded soldier could have grabbed 'em and torn 'em off when Hawkeye was working on him…"

"Hunnicut," Margaret started slowly. "That's true. That could be it. But there's something… sometimes when they… when they take prisoners, they'll try to get you to talk by threatening family members, even if they're just empty words… so oftentimes, soldiers will throw away photographs and other identifying information if they think they're about to be captured…"

"Oh."

"B.J…"

"No!" he said, looking around wildly. "I just… I can't accept that. Colonel… give it to me straight. What's happened to Hawkeye?"

Colonel Potter looked hopelessly around at them. "I don't know, son. But if he's alive, the chances are now very high that he is in the hands of the North Korean army."

There were tears glistening in the eyes of Margaret, Klinger, and Father Mulcahy. Charles continued to look completely deflated from his usual pompous self, and B.J. looked shocked and stoic. "Thank you," he muttered, turning for the door.

"Wait, B.J…" He paid no heed and continued out the door of the colonel's office. Before anyone else could say anything, they heard a thump, and Margaret and Father Mulcahy rushed out to Klinger's office. B.J. had collapsed in a heap and his body was wracked with dry sobs. They sat carefully on either side of him and each wrapped an arm around his narrow shoulders, knowing that no amount of physical comfort would fix the problems inside B.J.- or inside the rest of them, for that matter.

Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene.

_25 December 1952_

Ten days, and nothing. Ten days, no news, no sign, no body… nothing. Everyone had to admit, that nothing was worse than knowing something bad; knowing nothing, they weren't even sure if they should be out looking for him. There were indications that some prisoners had been taken by the other side that fateful night, but even that couldn't give them any small measure of hope- it just meant that, if Hawkeye was still alive, he was likely worse off than miserable.

Knowing that in all likelihood, a living Hawkeye was an imprisoned one, Margaret Houlihan couldn't decide if she'd rather hear he was dead than captured. And then she immediately felt guilty for thinking it at all. But for someone so… insane, so free-spirited- it seemed a far worse crime to lock him up (and heaven forbid torture him) than to think that he could have died instantaneously, not even knowing the bullet, or mortar shell, had his name on it.

Christmas was a subdued affair at the 4077th. Margaret attended Father Mulcahy's Christmas Mass, though she was not Catholic. The attendance was higher than she ever recalled on prior holidays, but Father Mulcahy had lost much of the spirit with which he usually conducted these services.

She sought out B.J. that night, and they got drunk quickly off the abhorrent concoction in the still in the Swamp. Charles was on post-op duty that night, so they spoke freely, and drank even more so, not worrying about bothering the self-absorbed Bostonian. She tried to broach the subject of Hawkeye, but B.J. shut down quickly, becoming upset and drinking faster to avoid talking to her.

Charles found them the next morning, both asleep in Hawkeye's cot- Margaret was propped against a tent beam, and B.J. lay across the long way with his head in Margaret's lap. His tall frame didn't fully fit on the bed in this position, and his feet rested on the floor.

Later that day, B.J. disconnected the still.

Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene.

_1 January, 1953_

Sidney Freedman pulled into the compound on a grey and frosty morning. Even given the chill, he couldn't quite recall ever seeing the camp look so depressive. He parked his jeep in front of the VIP tent and made his way to Colonel Potter's office as indicated by the uncharacteristically properly dressed Corporal Klinger. Even more uncharacteristic, Klinger didn't once make a joke about a Section Eight.

"Sidney," Colonel Potter stood and took his hand. "So glad you could come and spend some time out here."

"My favorite MASH unit in the theater," Sidney quipped quietly. The two men looked one another over as Colonel Potter indicated Sidney should sit. "Any news…?"

"No," he replied heavily. "None. Zilch. A big, fat goose egg." He carefully removed his glasses and wiped a weary hand across his brow. "I think that's the hardest thing about it all… if we only knew something- _anything_. It'd be better than sitting here, waiting, and maybe waiting for nothing."

"Have you spoken with Hawkeye's father?"

The colonel sighed heavily. "Hardest phone call of my life. The man has to be sick with worry."

"Aren't you?"

He huffed. "Touché, Sidney."

"Where's Hawkeye's father? New Hampshire, is it?"

He shook his head. "Crabapple Cove, Maine," he declared. "Hawkeye still lived with him when he was drafted. Very close, those two. They were all each other had left."

"You're using the past tense, Sherman," Sidney pointed out mildly.

Colonel Potter looked stricken. He put his head in his hands and hunched exhaustedly over his desk. "Gosh, Sidney…" he took a deep, shuddering breath. "It's so hard. Hawkeye was- _is_, dammit, Hawkeye's my son. Just as B.J. is, and Margaret's my daughter… I need to know what's happened to him, for good or bad. We all need it. How can we ever cope if we don't know if we have to worry about a prisoner, or pray for the deceased…?"

"That's why I'm here," Sidney reached across the desk and gripped his friend's hand.

Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene.

_3 January 1953_

There was a tap on the door of the VIP tent. Sidney glanced up from the book he was reading. "Come in," he called amiably. "Ah," he exclaimed in surprised welcome, "Father. Do come in, take a seat."

"Thank you, Major," Father Mulcahy shuffled in, looking a tad awkward as he removed his hat and ducked under the low tent clearance.

"Sidney, please," the psychiatrist directed patiently. "How are you, Father?"

The priest smiled tightly. "Oh, you know- well as can be expected, I suppose. Yourself, Sidney?"

He shrugged. "I'm stressed, depressed, and feeling rather lost, to be quite frank with you," Sidney said wearily. "But I'm trying to put those thoughts away in order to actually do the job I came here to do but… well, you know I care as much about Hawkeye as anyone."

"Yes," Father Mulcahy jumped on his words, taking Sidney back a bit. "I mean," the younger man looked bashful, "I'm having the same problem. Hawkeye's presence in this camp did wonders for morale; a compassionate doctor, top-rate surgeon, true friend to anyone- and now that he's gone, and the entire camp is worried about him, I've found my own task harder and harder to do. How can I guide others emotionally and spiritually when… well…" he trailed off and looked ashamed.

"What is it, Padre?" Sidney leaned forward, concerned. "You know you can say whatever you like in here."

Father Mulcahy nodded. "Yes, well… it's just that, when others come to me, upset and trying to find a spiritual answer, I don't know what to say to them when I'm… well, when I'm starting to question my _own_ faith."

Sidney sat back heavily, stunned at this admission.

"I know, it's a horrible thing to even think about," the priest shoved ahead, eager to get this off of his chest as soon as possible. "I mean, what would people think- what would _you_ think- knowing that the priest of this outfit, the man responsible for the spiritual well-being of these fine men and women in trying times, was questioning, well… everything… in light of difficult circumstances?"

"You're only human, Father," Sidney finally managed. "You're entitled to the same doubts-"

"But I'm not!" he was becoming more and more agitated. "I mean- the clergy sometimes leave the church, decide the lifetime commitment is too much, but that's not the same… I took vows, and oaths, to guide these people in a manner befitting a man of the cloth, and how can I look someone in the eye, when they come to me, upset and confused, when I'm feeling the same pain and confusion?"

"Have you considered taking some time to yourself? Or finding your own counsel with some fellow clergy-people?"

"And leave this unit during its time of greatest need? Sidney…" He took a deep breath. "Hawkeye is a remarkably unselfish person and his antics… well, while perhaps he and B.J., and Trapper back in the day can be a bit _immature_ with some of their pranks… they've always kept this unit cohesive and happy. That something so terrible could happen to such an extraordinary person… and the thought of being so selfish as to neglect my own crucial role, when Hawkeye is…" he trailed off and he had tears running freely down his cheeks. Sidney noticed suddenly that his own eyes were wet.

Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene.

_5 January 1953_

"You come here often, stranger?"

B.J. Hunnicut glanced wryly at the visiting psychiatrist. "I was wondering when you were going to corner me."

"I leave tomorrow, B.J.," Sidney pointed out. "You're just about the only person in this camp who hasn't come to see me in the last four days."

"Not much to say."

"But you thought I'd look for you."

B.J.'s mouth opened and closed, and then repeated the actions before he laughed mirthlessly. "You're good."

"That's why I make the big bucks." He watched B.J. take a sip of his drink, looking defiantly anywhere but at the major sitting next to him. "What are you drinking."

"Ginger ale."

Sidney did a glancing double-take before summoning Rosie. "Two ginger ales, Rosie." He turned back to B.J. "Give up alcohol?"

The captain shrugged. "We're down a surgeon, we're all on-call all the time." It sounded distant to both of them.

"Is that the real reason?"

"No." But B.J. wasn't offering anything further.

"How's the still holding up?"

B.J. shot a quizzical glance at Sidney. "You haven't gone in the Swamp since you've been here?" He shook his head. "Rosie," he called, "we'll take those to go."

The walk across the road and to the camp was mostly quiet. Finally, as they walked in the cluttered tent, B.J. broke the silence. "It seemed weird and wrong to keep it going."

"When was it last used?" The table on which the still rested was covered in papers, but Sidney couldn't tell what they were yet.

"Christmas night. Margaret and I sat up late in here, and then the next day after I woke up, I yanked the plug. Since then…" he gestured Sidney forward. "Well, it's sort of become a place for well-wishers." And indeed, Sidney saw that notes of love and encouragement and hope had been strewn about. Some were open for all to read, some sealed, some anonymous, but they were all positive and caring. "Why haven't you been in here yet, Sidney?"

"I thought I was supposed to ask the questions," Sidney replied good-humoredly.

"Ah!" B.J. pointed an accusing finger. "Avoiding the question."

"Caught me red-handed."

They sat in silence for a bit after that. Sidney took some time to compose his own letter to leave behind for Hawkeye.

"Colonel Potter is putting in for another surgeon next week," B.J. finally said quietly. "He can't keep operating understaffed."

Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene.

_15 February 1953_

_Dear Peg,_

_It's been two months today since anyone last saw or heard of Hawkeye. Maybe you already realized that, but I just can't shake the thought that it's been eight long weeks. I don't know if I've ever wanted to be back in your arms more than at this very moment. _

_We have a replacement surgeon- people talk like it's a temporary thing, but I'm losing hope, Peg. Damn it, it hurts to even write that. Two months. Even if Hawkeye is alive, God knows what condition he's in. Even if he's alive, and even if we ever get him back, he won't be coming back here- he'll be going home. Two months in a Korean prison camp… _

_I'm sorry, honey. I hate to be so unpleasant, so negative, but there's this big hole in me. The hole began to grow when I had to leave you and Erin, so soon after she came into this world, and then- it's already been more than a year, can you believe that?- Hawkeye helped fill some of the void. He's the best friend I've ever had, sweetie. Now that he's gone too, the hole is gaping wider than ever, and I don't know how to fix it, at least not until I return to you and our beautiful daughter. _

_The new cutter is a man named Nathan Lyle- nice enough guy, still learning the ropes of MASH surgery, but he's bright. I think he feels awkward though, like he knows how everyone has a hard time considering him a true member of the outfit. He's been understanding, but for the most part has kept to himself._

_Charles has had quite the turnaround of character. I've never seen the man more subdued over such a long stretch of time. _

_To be honest honey, I'd take Charles at his worst and an entire camp full of Frank Burns, if it only meant I could have Hawkeye back. _

_Take care, sweetheart, and give little Erin a big kiss for me. Tell her that her daddy will be home soon with any luck, and he loves her immensely. You of course know how much I love, adore, cherish you… _

_Your loving husband_

Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene.

_26 February 1953_

_Dear John 'Trapper' McIntyre,_

_I hope this finds you- the records in our files are so old, but Klinger found your last known address, so hopefully if you aren't there anymore, it'll be properly forwarded. _

_You don't know me, so I suppose I should introduce myself- B.J. Hunnicut. Captain, if you want to know. I was your replacement all those months ago. Arrived in Kimpo airport less than ten minutes after you took off- I know this because I met Radar O'Reilly and Hawkeye Pierce at the airport, and Hawkeye came against strict orders to try to catch you before you left. He obsessed over those ten minutes for some time, but eventually my inauguration to the Korean way of life forced him to worry about other things- like Radar running into a mine field after an injured girl, and a guerilla attack on our jeep while a tire was flat- and half a platoon injured during a mid-march mortar attack as we drove by. Puked my guts out that day, but I've been here over a year now and it got a little easier to numb the pain of everything as time went by; Hawkeye was the best teacher in that regard. _

_It's actually about Hawkeye that I'm writing you, a complete stranger about whom I've heard so much. I woke in the middle of the night and had this inexplicable urge to contact you- maybe because you're the only person I can envision who shared a similar relationship with Hawkeye as I've had with him since I arrived in Korea. _

_Trapper- I hope you don't mind me calling you that- Hawkeye has been missing for just over two months now. He drew aid station duty, and our line was pushed back- Hawkeye wasn't in the ambulances or the bus. They regained the line several hours later, but all they found of him were his dog tags in the aid station. The building survived though, and so might've Hawkeye, but… well, I think you can figure it out. It's been two months. If he's alive, he's been a North Korean POW for ten grueling weeks. There's been no word though, one way or another. _

_As I write this, I again question whether to send it… as far as I'm aware, you haven't been in touch with Hawkeye since you left. Maybe this will only serve to drag the war back into your home life. If I've trudged up traumatic memories, my sincerest apologies; I only thought you might want to know (somewhat) firsthand, then to hear later. _

_Since I'm already in this deep, I guess you might be interested in how the 4077__th__ has done since you left; if not, I'm sure you've stopped reading by now. _

_Frank Burns went round the bend about ten months ago, after Margaret Houlihan got married to a Lt. Col. she met in Tokyo. He was submitted for psychiatric evaluation… and then promoted and stationed state-side. I hate that little weasel of a man. I'd give anything to be close at all to my wife and my little girl._

_Margaret has since been divorced- her husband was a rotten scoundrel. She's lightened up though, and Hawkeye and I have actually become quite good friends with the formerly terrifying head nurse. _

_A week after I arrived, Frank was replaced as C.O. (thank God). The man is Colonel Sherman Potter, regular army- a swell guy who knows the perfect balance between military efficiency and just plain old not giving a damn._

_Radar was sent home about… oh, six months ago now, I guess. His uncle died and he was discharged for family hardship reasons. He keeps up with Col. Potter though and seems to be doing okay in Ottumwa. Klinger took his place as clerk and, believe it or not, rarely touches dresses anymore. _

_Frank's replacement is a pompous old Bostonian named Charles Emerson Winchester (the third, as he always points out), but he has cooled off a bit given he finally accepted that boasting and whining alternately would _not_ get him returned to Tokyo… or Boston Mercy. _

_As for me- I'm from Mill Valley, California, right near San Francisco. I have a gorgeous wife named Peg, and a beautiful baby girl named Erin- though I suppose Erin isn't much of a baby anymore. She was all but three months when I was called up- that was fifteen months ago now, I guess._

_This place is miserable- much more so given recent events- but I downright envy you, Trapper John, for going home before I even got there. What I wouldn't give to hold my baby girl, to sleep next to my wife again… And especially what I wouldn't give to see Hawkeye Pierce again, alive and in one piece. _

_I hope I did the right thing in writing this letter- feel free to reply, or not. I'll be here, undoubtedly. _

_B.J. Hunnicut_

Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene.

_1 March 1953_

"Dear mother, father, and Honoria; my sincerest apologies that you've waited so long since my last message. Things have been difficult indeed around camp." Charles clicked off the voice recorder and took a long sip of tea. "Unfortunately, the work has not eased one bit and in light of… recent events…" He paused again and sighed a heavy sigh.

"As much as I may have complained about Pierce upon my initial arrival, I daresay we grew to be something of friends in recent months. His disappearance- there has been no change, he continues to be listed as 'missing in action'- has deeply wounded the hearts of the entire unit. Morale has never been so bleak- not even my own, upon my arrival.

"Our chaplain continues to conduct a moment of silent prayer for Pierce every morning at breakfast; that man is a rock. I must admit, I feared for his own state of mind around the New Year, but he has overcome whatever existential crisis plagued his priesthood and remains steadfastly determined to see things through to the best of his abilities."

Here, Charles stopped and dabbed his eyes once. "As for myself, I find hope dwindling quickly. Had Pierce been taken as a prisoner of war… well, those northern savages have little use for prisoners except to bargain for something else, and the duration since his disappearance…" his voice broke and he paused the recording in order to compose himself.

"Hunnicut and our head nurse, Margaret, are slowly emerging from their isolation from the topic; perhaps the most grief-stricken, the two have found a strange camaraderie in light of events. Hunnicut was closest to Pierce, but Margaret has served here with him the longest. I believe only Corporal Klinger and Father Mulcahy have been here for the same duration that they have withstood.

"Enough of this topic; I only wish I had more to say, but this matter has taken over the camp's thoughts and hearts at all times since December the fifteenth. Indeed, my tent has become something of a memorial sight…" he turned the recording off and tossed the contraption on his cot, overcome with an emotion he refused to acknowledge.

He took a sip of tea, raising his mug with trembling hands.

Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene.

_8 March 1953_

"Pierce Residence." Several seconds passed with no acknowledgement from the other end of the line. "Hello?"

"He- hi. Doctor Pierce? Daniel?"

He frowned. "Yes?"

Another silence filled ten seconds or so. "I'm sorry to call so suddenly like this, I don't know… my name is John McIntyre."

Recognition of the name sparked in the older man's mind. "Ah- Trapper John."

Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene.

_11 March 1953_

_Dear Dr. Pierce,_

_Sherman Potter here again. First things first, since I know it's the first thought on your mind, there's been no news since we last exchanged words. You know, of course, that we'd get a call through to you the second we knew anything at all. _

_Secondly, I'm instructed to send you the well-wishes of my entire camp- I'd try to name them all, but you'd probably be confused, but some names you surely already know: B.J. Hunnicut, Margaret Houlihan, Father Mulcahy, Charles Winchester, and Max Klinger all send their love. Radar O'Reilly also sends his best from Iowa (though it's traveled a long way to Korea and back through our own correspondence) as well as from his folks. _

_In your last letter, you mentioned the seasonal flu outbreak in Crabapple Cove- by the time you get this, I imagine it'll be a summer hay fever, but nevertheless, I hope your patients are doing well. _

_Hawkeye always spoke a lot about you, of course, and your work as a doctor; the way his face would light up whenever he was reminded about you and Crabapple Cove, and the thought of returning to a boring life of 'getting Crabapple Cove to say ah' was inspiring. Also made me wish I didn't join the service at fifteen during the First World War! The dedication your son has towards his hometown is endearing, and I wish I had the same experience to think back on. _

_Then again, my missus has been settled down in Hannibal, Missouri for some twenty years now, and when I can make it home next, I'm not sure I'll ever leave again. It's my third war, and I think three just might be all I can handle. Don't tell anyone though- I'd hate for them to think I'm actually getting old!_

_My best again to you, Daniel- I hope the next time we talk, it'll be with something encouraging to report._

_Yours, respectfully and affectionately,_

_Sherman T. Potter_

Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene.

_15 March 1953_

The three month mark seemed to approach and pass slowly. Every time Klinger signed and dated a form- daily reports, requisitions- he thought about Hawkeye Pierce with a heavy heart.

Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene.

_18 March 1953_

_Dear B.J.,_

_What does B.J. stand for? _

_I'm glad you wrote me, so stop worrying. I must admit though, you've elicited enough reactions out of me through your letter, I'm afraid my wife is about to have me committed. _

_You're right, Hawkeye and I never kept in touch- I never knew how to write to him. It sounds like you and him have developed a close friendship- do you know how you would write a farewell note to someone like him, if you were going home and knew he was stuck in that hell hole? _

_I feel so guilty, knowing that, not only has he been in Korea more than twice as long than I was, but now it may have claimed his life… I try not to think that way, but you gave me very little to go off of in your letter. I take it there's been no further news?_

_The thoughts of myself, my wife, and my two little girls (all of whom have heard countless tales of Hawkeye, and hope to meet him one day) go out to all of you and to Hawkeye, wherever he is. _

_Give Hot-Lips Houlihan a big kiss on the cheek from me. _

_Sincerely yours,_

_Trapper_

B.J. felt his eyes dampen slightly as he read the note from the man he had heard so much about but never had the pleasure of meeting. He tucked the envelope in his pocket and, when he returned to the Swamp, placed the letter on the top of the pile of well-wishes, prayers, and thoughts.

Then he sat on his own cot, found a note pad and tore out a piece of paper. Locating a pen, he scribbled something hurriedly, folded it lightly, and wrote _Hawkeye_ on the front of the paper. He tucked the small page under a corner of the still and got up again, off to find Margaret.

Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene.

_11 April 1953_

Colonel Potter looked up as Klinger stuck his head in the office.

"Father Mulcahy here to see you, sir." The priest ambled in and Klinger disappeared once more into his cluttered office.

"What can I do you for, Padre?"

Father Mulcahy shuffled his hat back and forth in his hands as he sometimes did when anxious or nervous. "I wanted to ask you, Colonel… well, sometimes it seems wrong to consider it, but I think this camp could use a spirit-booster. Anyway, the weather is warming up again, and Sister Theresa and the other nuns are looking for something fun to do with the orphans soon. I thought maybe, next weekend, if we're still not receiving casualties, we could bring them over for a day and organize some games…"

"I think that's a splendid idea, Father," Colonel Potter said seriously. "And you're absolutely correct, we could all use a fun day to forget our heavy thoughts. Can I trust you to organize things? Maybe Margaret will help…"

"Oh, absolutely, sir! Thank you. I'll head to the orphanage tomorrow morning to let them know. Oh, and say, Colonel," he added as an afterthought, "is there any news on when the communication lines might be restored…?"

The colonel shook his head in frustration. "No idea. There's a major offensive some miles west of here, and it's completely cut us off from just about anyone and anything else in Korea. I think we'll just have to sit it out until those numbskulls with the guns decide to let up and they can reestablish supply and comm lines. Fortunately we're well-stocked as it is."

Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene.

_18 April 1953_

They received their first mail call in about two weeks. The entire camp cheered for the restored supply chain, and Klinger tested out the phone, if only to call I-corps and ask if they could expect the fix to be long-term.

Morale was therefore surprisingly high as the orphans arrived and most of the camp piled into vehicles and headed a quarter mile down the road to an open pasture where they could run around and play games with the Korean children.

Klinger was about to head out when the phone in the office rang. He waved to Father Mulcahy to go on ahead without him, and ducked back in the office.

"MASH four-oh-seven-seven, Corporal Klinger here." He held the receiver closer to his ear and frowned. "Yeah- the three-oh-ninth Evac? Uh huh… you have… what? Hello?" The line went dead and Klinger cursed. "Damn comm lines," he muttered. Knocking once on Colonel Potter's office door, he waited patiently while the colonel finished what he was doing. "Sir?" he asked.

"What is it, son?" he asked distractedly. "Telephone?"

"No, sir- line got cut off again. But, Colonel… did we ask for a new surgeon?"

Colonel Potter looked up in surprise. "I didn't- did you?" he asked sardonically.

"No," Klinger chuckled. "But that was the three-oh-ninth Evac, and I think they said they were sending us a surgeon we asked for."

The colonel sighed. "Probably still sitting on our papers from when we asked for Captain Lyle… Klinger, see if you can get them back on the phone." Klinger was almost out the door when he reconsidered. "Actually, hold on a minute, son- why don't you head down with the others and have a good time. I'll try the three-oh-ninth."

"Are you sure, Colonel?"

"Absolutely. I can hold things down here for a bit."

"Will you come down and see the orphans, sir?"

He smiled. "You bet. I just want to finish this letter to Mildred first. I'll try to get the Evac hospital on the horn afterwards, and then I'll head that way and get the nurse on post-op duty to cover the phones."

"Yes, sir."

Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene.

An hour later, Colonel Potter was preparing to take Sophie out for a stroll down to the open pasture down the road, when he heard a jeep pull up. He frowned, not expecting casualties or any other visitors. Heading out to investigate, he ran into Sidney Freedman in the door of Klinger's office.

"Sidney!" he exclaimed. "How are you?"

"Just fine, Colonel," he replied in a measured voice. "Where is everyone?"

"Oh," the colonel smiled, "Sister Theresa brought the orphans over for the day." He pointed out over the field where they could see the little children running around with nurses, corpsmen, and doctors alike. "It's warm, we've had a long stretch without casualties, and let's face it- we can all use the morale booster. I was just about to meander down that way myself with Sophie, she hasn't had the chance to stretch her legs in some weeks!"

Sidney frowned. "Colonel, did the three-oh-ninth Evac call you today?"

"Ah!" Colonel Potter exclaimed. "Those dolts- they said they were sending a surgeon, not a psychiatrist. Certainly confused Klinger. Granted, we didn't ask for either, but I can't complain about seeing you, Sidney. What can I do for you?"

"Well," Sidney now looked confused, "I wanted to talk to you- and the others- about Hawkeye."

A shadow passed over the colonel's face. "Seems just yesterday… hard to believe that it's been four months since… well." He took a deep breath. "I don't know if that's such a great idea, Sid. I mean, people are finally starting to make their peace with things, I think. Hunnicut is still struggling, but otherwise…" he shrugged sadly. "We were hoping today could help take people's minds off of things."

"Colonel," Sidney was pale. "You said the three-oh-ninth called…?"

"They did," Colonel Potter replied slowly, "but the call was cut off. Tried to get them back on the horn several times now, but the lines must be tied, jammed, or cut again."

"So… you don't know? You haven't heard…?"

The color rushed from the colonel's face. He gripped the edge of Klinger's desk tightly, knuckles going white. "What, Sidney? Heard what?"

A/N: This story is written, just undergoing some fine-tuning, so you can expect updates every day or two. :-)

*~Lexi~*


	2. Chapter 2

**Part II**

_8 April 1953_

"Chest wound here! North Korean, by the uniform."

"Get him prepped, fast!"

The man in uniform, covered in his own blood, reached for the arm of the nearest nurse. She shrieked and backed away.

"Hawkeye," he whispered, eyes fluttering open and closed.

The staff glanced uncertainly at one another. "What did he say?" one asked.

"Doesn't matter," another said. "We need to get him into surgery. The M.P.'s can worry about whatever he has to say after that."

"Hawk…"

"Alright," the doctor hurried in, "let's get him under. Gloves and gown!"

**Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene.**

"Numerous bruises and contusions, severe dehydration, low hemoglobin levels, dangerously high fever- one-oh-three point one."

"Any obvious cause of infection?"

"Not yet, but we haven't had time to thoroughly examine him. We've already given him a dose of penicillin. He looks extremely underweight and malnourished, might just be sick from weakness."

"Hey, look at this!"

A young medic exposed the left leg. Mid-thigh, the cause of infection was apparent.

"Old wound," the doctor muttered, "not properly healed. Looks like there might still be fragments in there. We better get this guy into surgery, clean it and re-close it if nothing else. He got a name?"

"No, doctor. No tags."

"_Oysha,"_ the man on the table muttered.

"What?" The doctor leaned in, pulled his lids back and shone a light. "Can you tell me your name, soldier?"

The man thrashed violently, nearly pulling the I.V. line from his arm. "Portland?" he asked, breathing labored. "Am I…? My dad…"

"You're in Korea, soldier."

"Tell my dad…"

"What's your name?"

"Oysha," he muttered again, and fell silent.

"I think that was Korean," the nurse ventured.

The surgeon shrugged. "Put him under," he instructed the anesthesiologist. "If one of you wants to find someone who can translate, it might be helpful, but don't worry about it now. Let's check out this guy's leg."

**Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene.**

_9 April 1953_

"Major Freedman," the physician shook his hand. "Colonel Nguyen."

"Colonel," he acknowledged. "You sent for me?"

"Yes, Major. This push that started the other day… we stumbled across a fair few prisoners. Fifteen, a few of which look to have been there for some time. We've started taking statements from the better-off ones, but there are some injuries and, undoubtedly, some mental trauma to go along with the physical."

Sidney nodded. "It's good I was so close, over at the nine-oh-seventy-fifth. Getting an early start with former POWs is essential. Any serious cases?"

The captain glanced over a sheet of paper. "Too early to tell in some cases. One- by far the worst off- came to us with a very old injury, severe infection, high fever. We had to reopen and close an old wound, still had a couple of shrapnel fragments in it. He hasn't woken yet, he was sedated after his operation, the fever was making him delirious. No name- apparently he was isolated from the rest of the prisoners, they don't know him well at all. We'll have to wait for him to wake up." He continued to consult his sheet. "We have a chest wound from a mortar that hit the old warehouse where they were being held- a North Korean though. From what we've gathered though, he and the nameless American were actually in the process of releasing the prisoners during the fighting. He's still unconscious, but some of our men say he's a doctor, and that he didn't flee the building with the guards when our shelling started. Obviously we'll have to wait for him to wake and get a translator up here to learn that full story."

"Sounds like you've had a rough night, Colonel."

The colonel sighed. "On top of the fifteen prisoners and the North Korean with the chest wound, we had to take some overflow from the nine-oh-seventy-fifth. And we're expected to take many more during this offensive, I guess it's going to be a long one. To top everything else off, it's divided the western and eastern fronts- the lines to and from HQ in Seoul are shaky at best, and we're completely cut off from the eight-oh-sixty-third and the four-oh-seven-seventh units, not to mention the one-twenty-first Evac. It's too dangerous to try to send some of the overflow that way, but at least they're getting a bit of a break."

**Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene.**

"Major Freedman, this is Sergeant Simmons." The nurse handed the clipboard to the psychiatrist and he glanced over it, smiling at the young man in the bed.

"How are you, Sergeant? Can I call you Brian?"

The man smiled and sat up carefully, wary of a bandage around his ribs from a cracked one he had received the day he was taken prisoner. "Of course, sir. And I'm doing just fine, considering."

"How long have you been in northern hands, Brian?"

The man stopped and thought. "They asked me last night," he said ruefully. "To be honest, I can't say too specifically. I don't even know what day it was that they got me."

"That's alright," Sidney smiled understandingly. "Do you have an estimate?"

He shrugged. "A couple weeks, I think. Not more than a month. It was hard to tell time," his eyes darkened. "But it was pretty cold during the fight when…" he trailed away.

Sidney nodded. "I understand. Well, Brian, my name is Sidney Freedman; I'm a psychiatrist. Now don't be worried," he hastily added at the alarmed look on the sergeant's face. "Army regulation is that anyone who has been in enemy captivity must undergo a psychiatric evaluation before they can be sent home. Sometimes the captivity can be tragically traumatic, physically and emotionally, and they just want to make sure you're feeling alright before you leave."

"Oh, I feel great," the sergeant smiled broadly. "My buddy and I, we got captured together, and we promised ourselves we'd make it through it. He's across the hall- Corporal Benson."

"Ah, yes, I just spoke with the corporal," Sidney told him. "Well, Brian, I'm glad to hear you're feeling good. If you should want to talk about anything, just say the word and they'll find me for you." He didn't have the heart to tell him that he was a little concerned about the corporal's state of mind. "Otherwise, I'll check back in with you in a day or two."

When they got back into the hallway, Sidney turned to the nurse. "Is that the last of them?" he asked, exhausted from three straight hours of jumping from room to room and garnering a preliminary psychiatric opinion of each of the former POWs.

"Yes, Major," she said. "Well… there's the man without tags. But he'll probably be unconscious for a few more hours at least."

Every fiber of Sidney's being wanted to sit down with a cup of coffee and relax. "Let's check on him," he finally said. "See if I can't get an idea of what to expect later."

"Yes, sir," she complied and led him down the hallway. "I should warn you though- he's an alarming sight. Extremely underweight, obviously a prisoner for quite some time. He looks a little less frightening now that he's been cleaned up a bit, but he was stark mad when we brought him in. The nurse who scrubbed in says he kept talking about Portland and asking about his dad. And I have to tell you," she chuckled dryly, "I'm from Seattle, and Korea looks _nothing_ like the Pacific Northwest."

"But he wouldn't give you his name?" Sidney frowned.

She shook her head. "He was delirious," she reminded him. "The doctor asked, but all he could get out of him was 'Oysha.' We asked around, and the pronunciation is a bit off, but we think he was saying 'doctor.'" She shrugged. "At least he understood he was at a hospital, it seems."

"Hm…" They reached the room and Sidney took the chart, expression growing increasingly alarmed. His hemoglobin levels showed he was dangerously anemic and would be receiving whole blood transfusions for some time to counter the iron deficiency. Six-foot-two with an estimated weight below one hundred forty pounds; a steadily dropping temperature that peaked around 103.5 the prior night; and a newly opened and reclosed wound that appeared to have been sustained at least three months prior, causing the infection which raged through the man's body. "Looks bad," he admitted. The nurse nodded grimly, opening the door.

Sidney approached the bed, unsure what he expected to accomplish by looking at the unconscious man, but determined to get a glimpse of his last patient here.

And when he saw his face, he dropped the clipboard in shock. The nurse started.

"_Hawkeye_!" he muttered, gripping the rail of the bed like a lifeline.

"Wh- what did you say?" the young woman next to him asked in confused surprise.

"I-" he strugged for words. "I know this man."

"What?"

He went around the side of the bed to get a better look at his lost friend. Indeed, he looked horrible. Pale, emaciated, feverish… his head had been shaved, just as with the other prisoners to ensure any lice contaminations were eradicated, and it only served to make him look even more skeletal.

"He wasn't asking for a doctor," he told her, face still blank with shock, "he was trying to say that he _is_ a doctor."

"He is?"

"Best damn surgeon in Korea," he said, gripping his friend's limp hand. "At least he was- he's been missing since mid-December. Captain Benjamin Franklin Pierce. He was with the four-oh-seven-seventh MASH. Disappeared after he was called up to help at an aid station, and the line was overrun. And come to think of it…" he thought back to what the nurse had just told him, "he wasn't talking about Portland, Oregon. He's from Maine. Lives with his father."

"You called him something else…" the nurse said tentatively.

He smiled. "Hawkeye," he repeated. "I've never heard a soul call him Benjamin."

She looked contemplative. "I was in on the surgery on the North Korean they brought back," she said slowly. "He was asking about him, I think, before he went under. Of course, no one understood what 'Hawkeye' meant at the time…"

"Is the North Korean awake?"

She shook her head. "I don't think so. He had an extremely long surgery. Lots of damage."

Sidney nodded slowly. "I'll want to talk to him, I think," he said. "But for now, I need to speak with your C.O. again."

**Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene.**

"I've heard the name," Colonel Nguyen acknowledged. "I used to work back at the one-twenty-first, came across the name Pierce all the time on patients' medical profiles. Damn fine surgeon, from what I read- and was told, for that matter. Had more than one wounded boy tell me about the antics of a certain Doctor Pierce."

"He was the best," Sidney said quietly. "He was in enemy hands for sixteen weeks."

The colonel whistled. "Most don't make it that long."

"The four-oh-seven-seventh has been dwindling on its supply of hope. Are you sure there's no way to get word to them…?"

"Not a chance," Nguyen shook his head. "The entire area northwest of Seoul is undergoing heavy fighting, it's cutting Uijongbu off of the normal lines. The phone lines are down and I can't risk sending a messenger."

Sidney nodded reluctantly. "I understand, Colonel. What about getting a call to the States then? Hawkeye's father?"

"We'll start working on that, but it might take a couple of days to get a line out," he warned. Sidney nodded and stood to leave.

"It might be better that way. I'd hate to tell the four-oh-seven-seven, or Hawkeye's father, that he was here without having a better idea of his condition."

"What do you mean?"

"Colonel," Sidney said carefully, "he's been a prisoner of war for four months- seemingly in almost isolation, since none of the others even knew his name. The last anyone saw of him conscious, he was delirious and running a high fever. I'm more than a little concerned about what we're going to find when Hawkeye wakes up."

**Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene.**

He was right to worry. Nurse Marvin, the same who had led him around that morning, came to find him mid-afternoon.

"Major?" she spoke tentatively behind him. He turned from his copy of _Stars and Stripes_. "The patient… Captain Pierce… he's woken up."

Sidney quickly stood. "How is he?" He could tell by the cautious look on her face that she was afraid of saying what she had to say.

"He… well, he doesn't seem to remember anything about Korea, or the army, or being captive. He's not really saying much at all, to be honest."

They quickly went up to the next floor of the hospital. The nurse knocked twice on Hawkeye's door before entering. There was a doctor present- Sidney presumed the one who operated on his leg.

"Captain Pierce," the nurse said quietly, "I think you know Major Freedman?"

Hawkeye turned and looked at the nurse first. Sidney was alarmed by the darkness of his glare. He then shot a glance at Sidney, and something in his eyes flickered before he turned back to staring blankly across the room.

"Hawkeye?" Sidney approached slowly. "How are you feeling?"

"Don't call me that," the man said harshly, "I don't know you." His voice was dry and rough, and it sounded like he hadn't spoken much in the past few months.

"Yes, you do," Sidney said soothingly. "I've known you for more than two years now. We used to play poker back at the four-oh-seven-seventh." Hawkeye twitched but said nothing. "Me, you, Radar, B.J…"

"I'm not him!" Hawkeye exclaimed, eyes wild. "Just… call my dad please," he tried to calm his voice. "Just have him come get me. He's a doctor too."

Sidney nodded sadly. "We're trying to get through to him," he told the defiant man. "The lines are a bit tied up, but I promise we'll get him for you. Alright?"

"Fine. In the meantime, why don't you go and mess with someone else's mind, eh?"

The psychiatrist smiled tightly and exited the room with the nurse and doctor close behind.

"Well?" the nurse asked, agitatedly. "What's going to happen? Is his mind, you know… permanently messed up?"

Sidney chuckled. "Heavens no. I think he just needs a good talk with his dad."

"Why his father?" the doctor looked perplexed. "Why not you, or another friend from his unit?"

He shrugged. "His father doesn't remind him of the war that did this to him. But the comfort of the phone call will probably be enough to make him reconcile his conscious and subconscious variances in time and place."

"I don't follow."

"He knew I was a psychiatrist." The other two started, realizing what Hawkeye's line about Sidney messing with minds implied. "He knows me… but he doesn't want to. Not right now. So instead, his conscious trauma is fighting with his subconscious practicality- thus, he subconsciously knows that I'm a psychiatrist, but his conscious avoidance of anything to do with the war refuses to let him acknowledge that he knows me… that we're friends." He took a deep breath. "No, I think Hawkeye will be just fine."

**Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene.**

_10 April 1953_

"I wonder if I might have a moment with the patient?" Sidney asked the MP standing guard in the doorway of the wounded North Korean. "I'm sure I can take him in his current condition," he added wryly when the sergeant gave him an unsure look. With a terse nod, the MP moved outside the room and shut the door. Sidney turned to the man in the bed who was eyeing him with interest.

"Hello there," Sidney said amiably, pulling a chair near the bed. "Your name is Syn?"

"Yes, Doctor Freedman."

Sidney's eyebrows rose in curiosity. "You speak English alright?"

"I do," Syn nodded slowly. "In fact- we've met before, but it was some time ago."

"Have we?"

"Under a different name. You might remember a Captain Cho, at MASH four-oh-seven-seven…"

Sidney's eyes widened and he searched the other man's face. "Yes," he murmured. "I do."

"Hawkeye and B.J. arranged it," Syn spoke quietly, still weak from his injuries. "I was a patient. I had studied medicine in Chicago and was curious about the skill of those two doctors. They were decades ahead of us. They passed me off as a South Korean surgeon and took me under their wing, until the two majors gave everything away."

"When did you make it back to the north?"

The other man smiled bitterly. "In all honesty, I'd have preferred to remain down here. I had no choice. I was part of a prisoner exchange just a month after I left the MASH. Since then, I've tried to spread some of the skills I learned, to try to help lower our fatality rates."

"Can you tell me what happened to Hawkeye Pierce?"

"Is he alright?"

Sidney nodded. "He'll be okay. His health is in shambles, as I'm sure you're aware, and he's suffered some emotional trauma, but I think given time, he'll recover on both fronts."

Syn smiled. "I'm glad. He's a good man. But as for what happened to him… I'm not sure how much I can help you. I joined up with the battalion where he and other prisoners were being held about six weeks ago. He was already weak and sick. I tried my best to help him."

"What do you mean?"

"I was assigned to keep the prisoners alive. My superiors had little interest in keeping them _healthy_," he remarked bitterly, "but they wanted as many alive as possible in case they could be exchanged for anything worthwhile."

Sidney regarded him carefully. "The others say they didn't know Hawkeye, or that they hardly did. No one knew his name even."

"He was held separately. I tried to ask why, but never got many details. Just that he was difficult and antagonistic early on, so they punished him by leaving him alone. I think, perhaps, that they were uncomfortable leaving a doctor with other captives, like he might be able to help them somehow. But they thought, as a doctor, he could be valuable." He paused. "In any case, I of course knew Hawkeye the moment I saw him, though I did my best to hide my recognition from anyone else, lest I be removed from the unit. His condition had deteriorated a lot by the time I got there."

"How so?"

"He wasn't willingly eating or drinking what little bit he was given. His leg was never treated. It was already infected. I twice gave him penicillin injections while he was in the worst condition, but when he was fully conscious and alert, he refused them. He wouldn't let me remove the fragments from his leg either."

"What?" Sidney was alarmed. The Korean man shrugged as best he could.

"Doctor Freedman, I don't think anyone who hasn't suffered through what those men you liberated have can fully appreciate the horrors of being a prisoner of war in a country like mine. Hawkeye has an amazing spirit, an abundant love of life, and the most non-judgmental character of any man I've ever known. He'd been in that hellacious place for ten weeks already when I found him there."

Sidney didn't like what he was hearing. "So you're telling me…"

"Doctor, I think Hawkeye wanted to die; in fact, I know it. But when I found him there, I vowed to myself that he would not become a casualty of this war as long as it was in my power to keep him alive. And I managed it, but only just."

**Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene.**

_11 April 1953_

"Pierce residence."

"Doctor Pierce?"

"Speaking."

Sidney inhaled nervously. "Doctor Pierce, my name is Sidney Freedman. I'm calling-"

"What's happened?" the older man demanded. "Is it my son?"

"Yes, sir. He's safe. He was found in an old warehouse a few miles into the North Korean territory, two nights ago. He's at an evacuation hospital now." There was silence for some time, and Sidney realized that the other man was crying. "Doctor Pierce?"

"How is he?" he finally managed to rasp.

"Physically, he'll be fine after some care. Malnourished, anemic, dehydrated, and underweight, but he'll be okay. He had an old wound and a nasty infection when they brought him in, but his fever is gone and the wound is re-healing nicely."

Another lingering silence was broken by static. "And mentally? Sidney, I've seen your name in some of Hawkeye's letters… you're a psychiatrist. Is he…?"

"There's been some trauma, yes," Sidney replied evenly. "But I don't think it'll be lasting. In fact, I think talking to you will do him wonders."

"What's wrong with him?"

"Nothing unusual for one who has undergone what he has; the trauma of the past four months has made him shut off that part of his mind, and the rest of the war altogether. He won't acknowledge being in the army, or in Korea. But while he says he doesn't know me, he knew I'm a psychiatrist, which is the key." He omitted Paik's assessment that Hawkeye was self-neglectful to the point of suicidal while in captivity.

"I see," Hawkeye's father murmured. "Can I talk to him?"

"Of course," Sidney assured him. "I just wanted you to be prepared."

"I appreciate that, Doctor Freedman. Tell me- has his MASH unit been informed?"

Sidney's tone was rueful. "Unfortunately, the communication lines are down. The fighting is between us and them right now. There's a major offensive campaign underway, which started the night they found Hawkeye, and fourteen other prisoners."

"I see," he repeated. "Well I hope you can reach them soon. Sherman Potter has been a great source of comfort for me all these months."

"I'll do what I can," Sidney promised. "In fact, I'm hoping that Hawkeye will get a chance to see some of his old unit before he heads home. I should tell you, sir- we can't order him stateside until his health returns somewhat to normal, but I can promise you that he'll be heading your way within the next month. Now if you'll hold on for a minute or two, I'll get Hawkeye on the line."

**Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene.**

"Doctor Pierce?" Hawkeye looked slowly at the nurse who stood in the doorway. The staff had quickly learned to stop calling him 'captain.' Any reference that reminded him too strongly of the military elicited some violent reactions. "There's a call for you, you can just pick up the receiver, it's already been patched through to the room."

He nodded and watched her until she backed out of the room, waiting until the door was shut to grab the phone. "Hello?" he said quietly.

"Hawkeye?"

He froze, clutching the phone to his ear as though afraid it would disappear if he loosened his grasp. "Dad?" he whispered.

"It's me, son. I can't tell you how relieved I am to hear your voice."

"Yeah… me too, dad. How long has it been?"

There were several seconds of silence. "Almost seventeen weeks now, son, that you disapp-"

Hawkeye cut him off. "Wow. Did I move out that long ago?"

The line was quiet for a few seconds again. "Hawkeye," his father finally said carefully. "Listen to me. You didn't move out. You've been a prisoner of war, you were drafted. It's been two and a half years since you left home."

Silence.

"That's ridiculous," Hawkeye finally muttered. "Dad, can't you just come and pick me up? They say I need to stay while my leg heals, but I told them you're a doctor and…"

"How did you hurt your leg?"

"What?" Hawkeye spoke slowly and carefully.

"Your leg, Hawk. How did you hurt it?"

"I-" his voice wavered a little. "You know what happened."

"No, I don't. I haven't heard from you for four months."

Hawkeye took a shuddering breath. "Yeah, but… haven't you talked to my doctors…?"

"Hawk!" he shrunk back visibly at the raised voice. "Have you told your doctors how you hurt yourself? They don't know when and where the injury came from."

"Yes they do…" his tone was more unsure now.

"Hawkeye- what happened to your leg?"

A full minute passed, Hawkeye breathing raggedly, knowing deep down that he was caught in reality, but wanting so badly for it to all just be a dream, and to wake up back in his bed in Crabapple Cove, not a care in the world besides maybe cutting the grass, or getting ready for one of the fishing trips he and his father used to take together.

He wanted it so badly.

"It was… I was too close to a mortar shell. I had shell fragments in my leg. The bus, it…" he stopped and took a heavy breath. "I fell."

"I'm so sorry, son. I wish there was more I could say than that, but…" he took a deep breath. "Hawkeye, I can't even begin to imagine what you've gone through, and not just these past four months. Your letters have always been filled with jokes, but there's a deeper darkness behind it all. And you've been so strong, to put up with all of it for so long, and now this... Lord knows I'd have flipped a lid by now. But Hawkeye, I need you to keep being strong for just a little while longer. Can you do that?"

Hawkeye closed his eyes and leaned his head back, tears still leaking into his pillow.

"Hawk, you know where you are, right?"

"Yeah, dad," he murmured quietly.

"I want to hear it."

"Dad…" he sighed. "I'm at the three-oh-nine Evac hospital. I'm… I'm in Korea."

Daniel Pierce sighed in relief. "I spoke to Doctor Freedman," he ventured, testing Hawkeye's acceptance of everything. "He says you can come home when you're healthy again- within the month, he said. He seems like a good man. Is he?"

"I don't know, dad…"

"Hawkeye... you've told me about Sidney Freedman in your letters. You like him. You're friends."

"Yeah," Hawkeye sighed. "Yeah."

His father was quiet for a long moment. "Look, Hawk, I'm sorry. I don't mean to… I just hate that I can't be there for you now. It's been so hard all this time, the not knowing… but I'm so happy right now, I never thought I'd be so glad to hear your voice as I am right now."

"Me too, dad… me too."

**Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene.**

Hawkeye fell asleep shortly after getting off the phone. He was drained mentally and emotionally, and his body generally ached. His arm itched where the I.V. was hooked up, and he dreaded the nightly blood transfusions he had been promised for the foreseeable future. He briefly thought about removing the line from his arm so that he could get more comfortable and sleep easier, but then he remembered what his father said about him coming home when he was healthy, sighed, and sat back, falling quickly into an uneasy slumber.

He woke from an indistinct nightmare some time later. It was still light outside. He squinted and rolled away from the window- and started upon seeing that the chair opposite his bed was occupied by Sidney Freedman, who glanced up from a book at the movement.

"Sorry to startle you," the older man murmured quietly. "Mind if I come sit by you?"

Hawkeye said nothing and after a few tense seconds, jerked his head in a rough affirmative. Sidney smiled and moved his chair to better see and talk to Hawkeye. "How are you feeling?"

He huffed. "How am I…? I have to say, I hate you so much right now." He covered his face with a hand and his breathing was ragged.

"I get that a lot," Sidney said sardonically. "But I must say, Hawk… sorry. Should I continue to call you Doctor Pierce?"

There were three beats of silence before Hawkeye started laughing. His face was still covered, and Sidney chuckled a bit, albeit not understanding. But then he realized that the laughter had changed to tears, and Hawkeye was outright sobbing.

"God- I'm sorry, Sidney," he managed between breaths.

"Do you hate me or are you sorry?" the psychiatrist asked in good humor.

"Can't I do both?"

"Of course."

"It's just- after all this… God," he muttered, "if B.J. could see me now." Sidney let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, relieved that Hawkeye had gotten beyond his complete denial of Korea and everyone and everything associated with it. "Do they know?" Hawkeye asked after a minute's pause.

Sidney shook his head. "The country is practically split in half from fighting right now. Communication and supply lines have been cut between here and that side of Seoul, and travel is too dangerous right now." Hawkeye uncovered his face and wiped angrily at his wet eyes. Sidney couldn't tell how this news made him feel. "So what now?" he finally asked after a long pause.

Hawkeye laughed humorlessly. "Aren't I supposed to be the one asking that of you?" Sidney shrugged and Hawkeye inhaled heavily. "Sidney, there was a man- a North Korean doctor- I think he was wounded…"

"Syn Paik?"

Hawkeye looked up in surprise. "He _is_ here?"

Sidney nodded. "Came in with a chest wound, but he'll be alright. I spoke with him yesterday." He noticed Hawkeye looked away almost guiltily when he said that. "How did he get injured?"

"He was freeing the prisoners," Hawkeye murmured quietly. "He came and got me first, we went for the others. The guards had long abandoned the building, it was an obvious target for mortars. Syn was leading us out when a shell tore through the hallway in front of him, sent shrapnel flying back. He didn't have time to take cover." He was reflective for a long time. "I owe him a lot."

"Sounds like he owed you already." Hawkeye shook his head but didn't comment. "Hawkeye, he told me that you weren't eating or drinking."

His eyes snapped towards Sidney's angrily. "I was sick, Sidney."

"He also says you refused antibiotics."

"Would you trust needles and drugs in a North Korean POW camp?"

"But you trusted Doctor Paik." It was said evenly, with no hint of censure. Yet Hawkeye sensed the underlying question.

"I don't want to talk about this," he finally said.

Sidney nodded. "That's fine. Can we talk about your treatment here?"

"What about it?" his tone was monotonous and defeated.

"I would like- given your permission- to request that I be named your attending physician for the duration of your stay here."

Hawkeye's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Why? Isn't that a tad unorthodox?"

"If it would make you uncomfortable, that's fine. But your case is a tad unorthodox, you _are_ a doctor. I thought you might like the company of a friend."

"A friend who can keep a constant watch on my head?"

Sidney smiled coyly and shrugged. "I don't know if you need it. You do?"

"I didn't say that."

The two men sat and watched each other quietly for some time.

**Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene.**

_13 April 1953_

"You've gained… about six pounds in four days. That's mostly water-weight, Hawk. You aren't eating enough."

He stepped off the scale, grabbed his cane, and sighed. "Weight is weight."

"Hawkeye," Sidney murmured, "you know that isn't true, especially for someone as underweight as you. What were you before…?"

There were several seconds' silence. "One-eighty," Hawkeye finally snapped.

"Uh-huh," Sidney looked at his chart. "That's a forty-five pound difference in four months."

"Minus six," Hawkeye smiled winningly. Sidney looked at him with cocked eyebrows. "Look," Hawkeye said, beginning to pace in small circles around the corridor, "have you ever gone four months without anything more complicated than rice and water? I didn't think so. I need more time, Sidney. This food makes me sick- which is really saying a lot, given how much more palatable it looks and smells than what I was used to at the four-oh-seven-seven. I just- I can't do it yet, Sid. I need more time."

"Alright." He nodded and checked another page on the clipboard as they walked back down the hall. "Your hemoglobin is improving nicely."

Hawkeye huffed. "Well," he muttered, sticking his arms out, "they've certainly put enough holes in me between I.V.s, transfusions, and blood tests." Indeed, his arms were bruised and bandaged in more than a few places. "Just tell me I can stop the nightly drips, eh?"

"I think so," Sidney said. "Your fluids look good. You're drinking plenty, kidney function is good. Can't promise an early end to the blood transfusions though," he said warningly. Hawkeye waved his hand in dismissal. "What is it about the transfusions that bother you, Hawkeye?"

They made it to the cafeteria in silence- aside from the rhythmic click of the cane Hawkeye used to support his injured leg- while Hawkeye mulled over the question. He looked distastefully at the selection of foods, accepting some vegetables and rice, and grabbing an apple on the way out. He bypassed the coffee, stomach churning at the thought of the strong liquid. He poured himself a glass of water instead and found an empty table where he poked at his food until Sidney sat down. A mug was placed in front of him.

"How about you try some tea and sugar?"

A look was shot his way, but Sidney didn't relent. Hawkeye finally took the mug and grabbed the sugar, dumping a bit in and stirring slowly. He raised it to his lips and winced at the bitter taste. The liquid sat heavy in his stomach. He grabbed a fork and scooped a small portion of rice, chewing it long and slowly before swallowing heavily.

"No meat today?" Sidney asked quietly. Hawkeye didn't respond. "You're uncomfortable here," Sidney stated evenly.

"I told you, I'm trying," Hawkeye was beginning to grow impatient.

"No- I mean here at the hospital." Silence. "You rarely interact with the staff. I've watched you when the nurses come to start your transfusion."

"I don't like being treated like a pincushion. And besides, you know what they say- doctors always make the worst patients."

He began eating a bit more, which Sidney would have liked if he didn't think he was only doing it to avoid talking any more. "You didn't want Doctor Paik to touch you, not even to help you overcome the infection. Did you think he would hurt you?"

"Really, Sidney? Psychiatry over lunch?"

He shrugged. "I fit it in where I can," he smiled. Hawkeye didn't smile back.

**Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene.**

_14 April 1953_

"How are the rest of them? You aren't neglecting any of your other patients, are you?"

Sidney looked up in surprise from his crossword puzzle, unaware that Hawkeye was awake. "No," he said slowly, "Six of the fourteen have been shipped out to Tokyo. Of the eight remaining, I'm only mildly concerned about one. But, he has a close buddy with him, and that friendship is doing him more wonders than I could ever hope to, but I do check up on him a few times a day."

"And then there's me."

"You aren't any more messed up in the head than anyone else who has undergone what you have. Physically… that might be another story."

"You spend an awful lot of time with me if you aren't worried about my noggin."

Sidney smiled wistfully. "Then let's just say that it's for my own peace of mind."

Hawkeye's eyebrows shot up questioningly. "Oh?"

"Let's just say that things haven't been the same since we lost you," Hawkeye looked down. "Irrational as it might seem- I feel like if I close my eyes for too long, you might disappear again. Silly, but I can't help the feeling. And I'll be damned if I don't get the chance to see those expressions of hopelessness wiped off the faces of everyone back at your MASH."

Hawkeye spoke haltingly. "Is there… I mean, do we have any idea when communications will be restored out that way?"

"From what Colonel Nguyen has heard, the push seems to be drawing to a close. He's optimistic about this weekend."

"Ah," Hawkeye stood slowly from the bed and began to wander the small room. "That's dandy."

Sidney regarded him curiously. "You do want them to know you're safe, don't you?"

"Of course," Hawkeye snapped. He quickly shook his head and looked away, flushed. "Sorry, Sidney."

"Quite alright." He regarded the distressed man in front of him carefully. "Hawkeye, tell me about the aid station."

Hawkeye frowned. "Always back to doctors with you."

"Not necessarily," the psychiatrist sounded surprised. "You could tell me about the wounded, the soldiers, the shelling..."

Hawkeye paced, limping slightly, a few more times and then perched on the edge of his bed. Sidney stayed where he was, sitting against the far wall.

"One of their surgeons was killed."

"While you were there?"

"No," Hawkeye quickly said. "Before. That's why they called us. Needed another set of hands." Sidney sat and waited for Hawkeye to work it through on his own. "It was hell on Earth," he finally whispered. "I was only there a minute when a shell nearly blew in a wall."

"Were you scared?"

"You kidding?"

Sidney smiled. "Right."

Hawkeye leaned forward and put his head in his hands. "I don't know how long I was there. Time seemed to move in slow motion… or maybe it was sped up, I don't know. And the intermittent shelling was the only thing that broke the frantic pace, and those kids… those torn up kids that came through…" He swallowed hard and shook his head. "They clobbered 'em."

"Were you injured?"

"No. I mean, yes, but not until…" he trailed away. "It doesn't matter."

"Sure it does. You were injured after you were taken prisoner?"

A long silence fell. Sidney noted with interest the way Hawkeye's left leg twitched and he clenched and unclenched his fingers. "No," he finally muttered. "A shell landed nearby on my way to the evacuation bus, shot a couple of fragments into my thigh."

"And the bus left without you?" Hawkeye's breath shuddered a bit, and Sidney wondered if he was trying not to cry. "Hawkeye?"

"They only gave us three minutes of warning."

"Who?"

"The big brass."

Sidney nodded thoughtfully. "What happened in those three minutes?"

"There was another medic with me still. Name of Bradley. I think he was a lieutenant, I don't know. We went for the bus together."

"Was he killed by the shell?"

"No. He was fine. He got on the bus."

"And left you there?" Sidney couldn't keep the surprise from his voice.

"I-" Hawkeye's voice broke. Sidney's mind was working a mile a minute, trying to figure out if this was where the discomfort was coming from. Had he been abandoned during the retreat? "He wasn't breathing."

Sidney's thoughts screeched to a halt. "Who?"

"I don't know."

"Hawkeye, you said he wasn't breathing. Bradley wasn't breathing?"

"Bradley was on the bus!" Sidney just nodded and motioned for Hawkeye to continue. "He yelled for me, I think. But I…"

"You were injured."

"Superficial wound. Hurt like hell, but no lasting damage, until the infection started."

Once more, the psychiatrist sat frowning, trying to figure out what Hawkeye was suppressing in his memory. "Hawkeye, was someone else with you? Another doctor? A wounded soldier?"

"No."

"Then who wasn't breathing?"

"No one. I don't know why I said that. A shell exploded, I fell, the bus left. It was very fast."

"But Bradley had time to get onboard." They were getting nowhere fast. After sitting for another several minutes while Hawkeye stared stoically at the wall, Sidney decided he had enough for the morning. He collected his paper and puzzle and was about to stand when Hawkeye finally spoke up.

"Three minutes warning. Two minutes later, they dumped a kid in our laps and then ran to jump in a jeep."

Sidney froze. "Who, Hawkeye? The officers?" Hawkeye nodded. "You had a casualty when you were trying to evacuate?"

"Belly wound. He was losing blood fast."

"And you tried to save him."

"He could have made it!" Hawkeye yelled, throat rasping with the effort.

"Bradley made you leave him?"

Hawkeye passed a hand before his eyes, breathing ragged. "That shell exploded. I dropped the litter."

And it all made sense, in a heartbeat. "You stayed for the wounded man. He wasn't breathing."

"That's right."

"Bradley left you both."

"He called for me."

"But you couldn't get the soldier on board. Not by yourself." His silence was the affirmative. "Why didn't you save yourself when the bus started to leave."

Hawkeye's eyes shot to Sidney's and they were red, his cheeks tear-streaked. "What do you- you son of a bitch," he muttered, "what kind of doctor- what kind of _man_ do you think I am?"

"Bradley was scared. You were too."

Hawkeye stood quickly and limped quickly around the room, mouth opening and closing in rage or frustration several times before he made any sound come out. "Look," he pointed an accusing finger, "I may be a dumb draftee doctor, but I'm still a doctor, even if I don't want to be here!" He leaned against the wall and exhaled slowly. "We could have saved him, dammit."

"Hawkeye… can you tell me what happened to the soldier?"

"I- yeah," he looked wide-eyed and dazed. "Yeah. They shot him. In the head."

"The North Koreans?" It startled Sidney how matter-of-factly he admitted the boy's fate when it had taken him so long to even talk about the wounded man at all. "Why didn't they shoot you?"

"Oysha," Hawkeye whispered.

**Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene.**

_16 April 1953_

"Sidney Freedman," Hawkeye mused. "You know you have the same initials as Sigmund Freud, right? Is that why you became a psychiatrist?"

"Yes. Though for a while though, I just thought I was destined to live in San Francisco." Sidney deadpanned, jotting a note on the chart. "You're up another three pounds."

"Oh stop, I'll get a complex."

Sidney regarded him coolly over the top of the clipboard.

"You could be a psychiatrist in San Francisco. You and B.J. could hang out, if you and B.J. ever make it home."

"What are you going to do when you go home?"

"That depends, what day of the week will it be?"

Sidney stopped walking. Hawkeye went another few paces before he stopped too. "Hawkeye, I've always appreciated your sense of humor; a great way to deal with the inanities of war."

"But?"

He chuckled wryly. "_But_, sometimes we use jokes when we're angry, upset, depressed- to cover up our true feelings."

Hawkeye's eyes darkened fractionally. "Sidney, a day hasn't gone by since I got to this god-forsaken country when I haven't felt all of those things."

"Understandable- but you spent the last two years seeing utter carnage on almost a daily basis; you've spent the last eight days in a quiet hospital with no responsibilities, no death…"

"So I should be grateful?" Hawkeye demanded, quickly losing patience. "Is that it? I'm away from the fighting, so I should forget about it? I can just close my eyes and make the whole war go away? Forget about B.J. and Margaret, Colonel Potter and Klinger, still dealing with meatball surgery, and shelling on a regular basis?"

"Haven't you forgotten about them?"

Hawkeye stared at him, expression almost murderous. "How dare you?" he whispered.

"You've barely mentioned the four-oh-seven-seven since you got here. You've only mentioned B.J. twice before now, both times in passing. Don't you think that's odd, Hawkeye? Your best friend, who doesn't even know if you're alive or dead-"

"I'm done," Hawkeye muttered, and set off towards his room. "I think my time at the three-oh-ninth, fun as it's been, is about over."

"Doesn't work like that, Hawk." The tall, painfully thin man stopped at the door of the stairwell, hand resting on the handle. "You're done when I say you're done; or when another doctor says so." Hawkeye didn't turn around, but he didn't keep moving. "See, what I can't figure out," Sidney said quietly, "is what it is that your experience with Bradley has done to you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hawkeye asked harshly. "We haven't talked about him in two days."

"You don't trust the army; that's no surprise- you never did. But now you don't even have that rock to lean on you had before, do you? No matter how rough things got, your doctoring came before anything else- and Bradley shattered that for you. You don't like the staff here- it's because they remind you of Bradley, who was a soldier first. Isn't it?"

"No," Hawkeye denied.

Sidney regarded him for a long moment. "What is it then?"

His eyes closed and he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't know."

"Sure you do." He was quiet. "Hawkeye," Sidney finally ventured again, "why didn't you let Doctor Paik see to your leg?"

"Because he _was _Bradley!" Hawkeye shouted. "They all are!"

"He _was_ Bradley, but they _are_?"

"Was, is, are… to be or not to be…"

"Syn Paik risked his life for yours- and fourteen other prisoners he barely knew. Fourteen prisoners on the opposite side of a long and bloody war." Sidney looked into his eyes closely. "That changed things for you, didn't it?"

Hawkeye clenched his jaw. "How can I trust any of them?" he burst out.

"Who is 'them,' Hawk?" He didn't respond. "Americans? Soldiers? Doctors?"

"Yes."

"Hawkeye…"

"Right in three. American soldier-doctors. Or would that be soldiers-doctor?"

"You're an American soldier-doctor; so am I."

"Not like they are," he said harshly.

For a long time, Sidney watched him and saw the confusion, pain, and a whole plethora of other emotions in his eyes. "Who is 'they'? Nurse Marvin? Doctor Nguyen?" Hawkeye said nothing. "B.J. Hunnicut? Sherman Potter?"

"Leave them out of this."

"You know it's alright to be mad and hurt. Even if it's towards your friends."

"What makes you think I'm mad at them?"

"Are you?"

Hawkeye opened his mouth and then laughed incredulously. "Oh, no," he smiled, "don't twist my words around like that."

"I'm sorry," Sidney said evenly. "I didn't think I was." He pushed his luck. "Do you resent that you were sent to the aid station, instead of someone else?"

If looks could kill, Sidney Freedman was pretty sure he'd have been struck dead where he stood. "Back to this?" Hawkeye asked, peeved. "You really don't think much of me if you think… you really think I'd wish that on B.J., who has a baby girl at home, or Colonel Potter, who's been through two wars already? Or even Charles, whose delicate sensibilities would have kept him from even entering the building that passed itself off as a medical facility?"

"They didn't wish it on you, either. But there's nothing wrong with wishing it hadn't been you- it's a self-preservation instinct."

"Self-preservation," Hawkeye muttered, turning away. "Let me tell you something about self-preservation, Sidney. They took three other men the day they got me. They marched us for miles; I had shrapnel in my leg, one boy had a head wound and a fractured wrist, another had been shot in the shoulder. They fought tooth and nail to make it, but exhaustion and blood-loss took their toll. Both were dead within two days."

"What about the third?" Hawkeye just shook his head. "You said three other men…?"

He sighed. "Private Willard. Pneumonia. I did what I could for him- gave him most of my food and water. But it wasn't enough. He needed medication, and they wouldn't let him have it. He was gone- I'm not sure- maybe a month after we got to the first place I was held."

"There was more than one?"

He nodded. "Happily, we drove to the second one," his tone was mildly sardonic.

"Where you were kept in a room by yourself?" Hawkeye stared. "What happened to make them decide that you couldn't be with the others?"

"Just my charming ways."

Sidney frowned, but nodded. They had been standing in a hallway having a very emotional conversation and it had taken its toll physically as well. Hawkeye looked tired and he leaned heavily against the wall to take pressure off his injured leg.

"How about some lunch?"

**Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene.**

_17 April 1953_

"Would you like to take a stroll outside?"

Hawkeye turned almost guiltily away from the window where he had been sitting and enjoying the sun and the greenness. Spring had passed him by until now.

"With you?" he asked, joking half-heartedly. "Yeah, why not?

They walked in silence for some time. Eventually, Sidney could tell that Hawkeye was tiring but trying to hide it. He tactfully steered them towards a low rock wall in a blooming Japanese garden. "Let's take a rest," he said. "The sun is making me sleepy."

"As long as you aren't melting."

"Only if I'm out for more than three hours," Sidney joked quietly back. "I want to talk to you about something, Hawkeye."

He received a quizzical look in response. "Is there anything you haven't talked to me about?"

"The big push is over, things are settling down between here and Seoul. Travel in between is relatively safe again, and they expect to have communications up again by tomorrow."

"Oh," Hawkeye did his best to look casually interested, but his voice was a tone higher than usual. "That's good, I've had a suit at the dry-cleaners in Seoul all this time…"

"Hawkeye, I of course want the four-oh-double-seven to know you're safe and sound, and I assume you do as well." Hawkeye nodded, eyes wincing against the harsh morning sun. "What I want to ask you though… do you want to go back?"

A good half-minute of stunned silence greeted this inquiry. "_Back_?" Hawkeye finally managed. "I thought you said I was going home!"

"Not back as a surgeon," Sidney pointed out gently. "Nor as a patient," he added ruefully at Hawkeye's accusing glare. "A visitor- for as long or short a time as you want. Look, you're improving nicely, but not as quickly as I'd hoped. I won't be able to sign your travel orders until you're less anemic and put on at least another ten pounds. I think you'll be there within two weeks, maybe a bit less, but you still aren't eating right and we need to work on that."

"Uh-huh…" Hawkeye looked unimpressed. "I'm still missing how that equates to returning to the dysentery capital of the world."

Sidney shrugged. "You hate it here, anyone can see that. I thought you might be more comfortable around friends. Improve your morale, and your health is sure to thank you for it." When Hawkeye said nothing, he shrugged again. "It was just an idea. Don't feel pressured. You can decide later."

They sat in silence after that, listening to the birds chirp and the faint noises of the constant flow of vehicles in and out of the compound on the other side of the building.

"What will they say?" Hawkeye startled Sidney from his reverie. "What will I say? What will we say?"

"I don't follow you."

"Four months," Hawkeye breathed. "It's been _four months_."

Sidney smiled tightly. "They never gave up on you."

"Don't you understand? That's the whole problem!"

Sidney turned to look at Hawkeye in surprise at the outburst. "No, I don't understand," he told him. "Can you explain it to me?"

"How am I supposed to look them in the eye, smile while they hug me and pat me on the back, tell me they knew everything would turn out in the end when… when _I_ gave up on me?"

So they finally made it here.

"Did you think you'd die in that prison?" Sidney asked, voice calm and measured. Hawkeye stood and paced in front of Sidney a few times. "Hawkeye?"

"Of course I thought so," he bit. "The others did. Why should I be special?"

"It's not unusual to feel survivor's guilt; you know, deep down, that you couldn't save them. The feeling will pass."

Hawkeye smiled wryly. "Ah, but you miss the mark, doc-o-mine. It's not that I _thought_ I'd die there that will bother them; it's that I _wanted_ to." He paused. "But I suppose you knew that already."

"It was a miserable place. Death would have been the easiest escape."

Hawkeye frowned and shook his head. "You're wrong there; it might have seemed that way, but it wasn't. I tried."

"How?"

"Sidney…"

"Hawkeye, you've been skirting this topic for a week now. It's obviously eating away at you. You refused medical treatment when it was offered, you stopped eating and drinking…" Hawkeye was quiet. "Why were you in a room alone?"

"I lost it after Willard died," he finally spoke up. "Yelled at them, threw bowls and cups at the guards whenever they came in the room, anything I could think of. One day I attacked the guard. Tried to, at any rate."

"Why?"

"To see if he'd shoot me in self-defense," he replied evenly. "Instead, they laughed. I was this weak, underweight, completely lacking in combat-experience doctor. They beat me up a bit and tossed me back with the couple of guys they'd picked up in the meantime. A week later, we traveled half across the country."

"And that's when they decided you weren't to be left with the others?"

A telling silence followed and Sidney knew Hawkeye wouldn't answer his question honestly. "Something like that." He looked away and frowned. "How do I tell them that I wanted the guards to shoot me, that I wanted to starve to death, or die of a fever, when they were silently fighting for me from afar the entire time? How do I look B.J., or the Colonel in the face, and tell them that the only reason I'm alive today is because Doctor Paik gave me penicillin when I was so weak and delirious I couldn't stop him, or that the guards, thinking that I might be a more valuable trade because I was a surgeon, held me down and forced water and rice down my throat?"

"Assuming you _chose_ to tell them?" Sidney asked mildly. "I think they'd understand."

"As long as someone does." He looked around. "So when do we leave?"

"When do you want to?"

"You're the doctor- don't you have other patients to handle here?"

Sidney shook his head. "The last of them was shipped out this morning."

Hawkeye gave a derisive laugh. "So it really is just me?"

"You were there a lot longer than the others." He got no response. "I got us on a flight tomorrow to Kimpo, but I can change it easily."

Hawkeye looked indecisive. "We can call ahead?" he asked unsurely.

Sidney nodded. "If we can't personally, we'll have someone do it while we're traveling, let them know we're coming."

"Yeah… okay. Tomorrow. I can do that."

**A/N: **Thanks for reading :-)


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Thanks to those who have read/added/liked/reviewed. ;-)

**Part III**

_18 April 1953_

Hawkeye couldn't deny that the idea of returning to his old unit made him feel slightly apprehensive, but as he and Sidney rode into the compound, he had to admit, this was not quite how he envisioned his homecoming.

The place was deserted; had it not been for the fact that the tents were all still intact, he might have thought that the 4077th had bugged out. He frowned at the eeriness of the place as the driver asked Sidney where they'd like to be dropped off.

"Here's fine," Sidney murmured amiably as they rode slowly by the hospital. They disembarked, grabbed their meager luggage, and said farewell to the driver who turned around near the office, presumably to head back to Kimpo. He turned to Hawkeye and shrugged. "Shall we check out the office? Maybe everyone is in surgery," he suggested doubtfully; it was far too quiet for there to be that many casualties that everyone would be occupied.

"Yeah," Hawkeye muttered softly, eyeing the compound as though he had never seen it before. "I think… I want to see the Swamp," he shrugged almost apologetically. "It'll just- I think it'll make everything more real, if that makes sense."

Sidney nodded. "Sure. I'll come find you when I figure out what's going on around here."

He trudged slowly across the road, inexplicably nervous about seeing his old tent, his home of more than two years. Part of him was anxious that someone _might_ be in there after all, and he still didn't know what to say. His fears quickly proved to be unfounded, for at least a little while longer- the place was as deserted as the rest of the camp. Hesitating only briefly, he pulled the door open and stepped inside.

The first thing he noticed about the Swamp was that it was as swampy as ever. The second thing was that B.J.'s things were around what used to be _his_ bed. The third thing was that the still was disconnected and the table on which it rested was covered in notes and letters. Frowning, he went forward.

When he realized what it was, what everyone had done, he just stopped and stared in stunned silence for several seconds. He glanced over the visible writing, smiling wistfully. A letter sitting near the top caught his eye and he frowned and picked it up, recognizing the handwriting of Trapper John. He read it and laughed audibly when the first line was the question of what 'B.J.' meant.

He was about to turn away when a last piece of paper caught his eye. It was small and tucked under the edge of the still to keep it from blowing away, but from the corner of writing he could see, he would recognize B.J.'s scrawl anywhere. He grabbed it with numb fingers and struggled to open it.

_Damn it, Hawk- where the hell are you?_

Finally, he felt his eyes moisten slightly, and he didn't bother wiping away the single tear that escaped.

Hawkeye wasn't entirely sure how long he stood there before he heard frantic footsteps approaching the tent. He turned quickly, briefly alarmed as the door of the Swamp flew open.

He stared at the newcomer for several seconds while the other man did the same; finally, his former C.O. rushed forward and pulled him into a tight hug. "I've been waiting four months to do that, son," he muttered thickly as he pulled away, wiping his eyes. "Sidney just scared me half-to-death, dropping in like that… it's such a relief to see you again, Hawkeye."

"You too, Colonel," Hawkeye murmured, looking at Sidney in confusion.

"The lines went back down," the psychiatrist supplied helpfully. "The four-oh-seven-seven never got the full message. I'm sorry, Hawkeye, I know you wanted people to be semi-prepared…"

Hawkeye exhaled heavily and smiled tightly, but his thoughts were whirling a mile-a-minute. Coming here to a knowing camp, with a bit of a clue of what had happened- that was something he could do. But now, knowing that no one had any idea that he was even alive… that thought scared him. "Where is everyone?" he finally asked quietly.

"Just down the road a skip," Colonel Potter told him. "Sister Theresa brought the orphans over to take advantage of the weather and the stretch we've had without casualties. Father Mulcahy and Margaret set up a few games, and Klinger and B.J. are running a cook-out…" he paused, apparently noticing Hawkeye's discomfited look. "I'm sorry, son, Sidney told me you were hoping for a low-key greeting here, but I can't deny that everyone'll be mighty glad to see you again- even the new folks have heard so many stories…"

"No, no, it's alright, Colonel," Hawkeye smiled. "Maybe we can just sort of… you know, quietly head that way and I can steal B.J., and you guys can, you know… gently break the news to Charles, who will undoubtedly be disappointed at my return, since the last time I saw him I stole a bottle of his finest wine."

Colonel Potter laughed, but Sidney was all too aware of the way that Hawkeye's eyes were shifting nervously and how he kept clenching his fingers and wringing his hands.

**Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. **

"Careful, Kim," B.J. pulled the girl who was grinning broadly from ear to ear away from Klinger's legs. "You are going to get yourself hurt if Mama-san Klinger here drops a hot burger on your head!" The little girl just laughed and allowed B.J. to pick her up and tickle her.

B.J. smiled wistfully as he set the girl back down and she ran off to rejoin the other children. They weren't much older than Erin, and he would have given just about anything to see her running around and playing instead. Nevertheless, it was refreshing to see such innocence and joy among people who knew little but misery and suffering.

"Hey, boys." B.J. turned in pleasant surprise upon hearing the familiar voice. "Klinger- I see you've relapsed." Sidney was grinning broadly and looking at Klinger's long skirt.

The Toledoan laughed. "Eh, what can I say? The kids like it."

"I'll bet they do. Say, Klinger, do you think you have things under control here for a few minutes? I need to talk to B.J. for a bit."

"Of course, Major, we Lebanese are master chefs, I'll have lunch out and ready in no time!"

B.J. smiled but looked concernedly at Sidney. "Hey, I hope it's nothing urgent, I promised Kellye I'd compete in the three-legged race with her."

"Hunnicut," he turned and saw Charles meandering towards them, "the woman is fully two feet shorter than you, I daresay you'd be dragging her on the ground after the first three yards." He looked Klinger up and down and sneered at his attire. "Major Freedman- Colonel Potter told me we were having a little _pow-wow_ here over lunch…?"

"Yes," Sidney jumped in. "I just need a few minutes with B.J., if you'll excuse us…"

As they walked away, B.J. stuck his hands in his pockets stared down at the ground, silent for several seconds. "I wondered if it would be like this," he eventually murmured, not looking up.

"If what would be like this?"

B.J. shrugged. "Colonel Potter gets the news he's been dreading- that we've all been dreading. And he knows it'll tear me to pieces even more than I already am, so he brings in reinforcements to help break the news. They found a body then? Or someone saw him die?"

Sidney held up a hand. "Whoa, B.J.- I think you've jumped far and fast to the wrong conclusions here…"

B.J. looked up at the older man and raised his eyebrows questioningly, but Sidney wasn't looking at him. He was staring intently up ahead and squinting against the bright noon sun. B.J. turned and followed his gaze- and stopped dead in his tracks. He blinked once, twice- it was impossible, but there, leaning casually against a jeep by the road…

"Am I a suitable reinforcement, Beej?"

With an almost dreamlike quality, B.J. walked slowly forward, thoughts raging through his mind that this _was_ a dream- but why would his subconscious alter Hawkeye's appearance so drastically, that wasn't how B.J. ever pictured his best friend. The unnaturally short hair, gaunt features, cane by his side… he slowly reached out to touch the other man's shoulder, afraid that contact would destroy the illusion before him.

It didn't. He grasped the bony shoulder firmly, taking great gasping breaths as he realized that his face was decidedly wetter than it had been mere seconds ago. He was pulled into a tight embrace, Hawkeye murmuring in his ear.

"I'm here, Beej… I'm here. It's alright." But the young surgeon couldn't let go, couldn't formulate any sort of comprehensible words for this impossible moment for which he had yearned for four months.

Sidney smiled and backed away, confidant that the two doctors would be catching up for some time and wouldn't miss him.

**Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. **

"Whew- what a day." Sherman Potter sat back in his chair and took a deep breath. He passed a glass of scotch over to Sidney who sipped it gratefully.

"What a week," Sidney corrected.

Colonel Potter huffed. "I could kill those dolts at I-Corps… ten days, and we had no idea."

Sidney looked skeptical. "It might have been better that way."

The colonel's eyebrows shot up. "Oh? Sidney, I asked earlier and you told me to wait until we were alone and had more time. Well, I think we've met both of those criteria, unless you're planning on making an early night of it."

"Nah," Sidney waved him off. "I have to check on Hawkeye at least once more before I go to sleep. B.J. just got him set up for his nightly transfusion."

"Nightly? Well he is thin as a rail, though it looks like he's trying to hide it. How bad is it, Sid? Give it to me straight."

"Eh…" he wavered his hand in a so-so manner. "I have seen better. Have seen much worse, too. Physically… he lost a _lot_ of weight, Colonel. Came to the three-oh-ninth at one-thirty-five." Colonel Potter whistled. "Got him back up to about one-fifty now. I told you about his leg- he went four months with shrapnel under the skin."

"Infection?"

"Horrible. High fever, delirious… they got it under control quickly, but he had to be sedated even after he woke from the surgery to remove the pieces."

"What else?"

Sidney handed over the folder he had brought with him that had the records of Hawkeye's condition as it had been tracked since he reached the Evac hospital. "Still very anemic, but the transfusions are working. Unfortunately, his diet isn't doing much to supplement it."

"Trouble eating?" Sidney nodded. "That's not unusual, after what he was probably stomaching for those four months."

"I think it goes a little deeper than that, Colonel."

The older man nodded and sat back wearily, sighing. "Psychologically, you mean."

"After ten days, he should be able to handle small quantities of meat and dairy. But trying to get him to eat anything besides rice, other breads, and vegetables is like pulling teeth. Even with most fruits, the acidity bothers him too much. I've gotten him to drink some weak, sugared tea, but it's mostly just water."

"But he is gaining some weight."

"Some… but he isn't recovering as quickly as I'd like. The first ten pounds should have been easy with an influx of fluids. The next ten within a few days as patients start to eat semi-regular diets again. But Hawkeye… even adjusting for his slower recovery pace, I was optimistic about getting him a thousand calories in solid foods a day by now. He's still struggling to hit eight-hundred. Under any other circumstances, I'd say he was anorexic but I think his problem is just as systemic as psychological, which means it defies definition in terms of either. His body is revolting more than the other prisoners because of a combination of factors- he was imprisoned longer, had lasting trauma from his leg wound…"

"And?"

"And he stopped eating and drinking in prison for a long time, until the guards physically forced it down his throat."

Colonel Potter frowned. "Sick?" Sidney raised his eyebrows. "Suicidal?"

"Both." He took a deep breath. "Look, Sherman… I'm frankly not too concerned about Hawkeye now. He struggled through the last ten days, yes. But I think he's gotten must of his problems out in the open with me, which is always the hardest part." He took a long drink. "I don't want to get into specifics- it's not my place. But I need you to know that he expected to die- wanted to die… and tried to make it happen. In case I have to leave while he's still here, I want someone else to know that; just in case."

"Thanks, Sidney. I'll keep that to myself unless it seems unwise to continue to do so."

The psychiatrist smiled his thanks. "I suspect that Hawkeye will confide some in B.J., and I'm honestly not too concerned."

"Alright. Think he'd mind if I stopped by while he's in post-op?"

Sidney shook his head. "He's not there. B.J. helped him rig the transfusion in the VIP tent."

"Why?"

For a long time, the psychiatrist sat and thought. Finally, he said, "Honestly, Colonel? You'll have to ask him."

**Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. **

_19 April 1953_

"You awake, Hawk?"

"Mm," he murmured and rolled over. "Beej?" he asked, eyes barely open. "What are you doing here?"

B.J. was sitting upright on the other cot that had been squeezed in the small tent the night before, pad and pencil in hand, writing a letter to Peg, undoubtedly. "Oh, I switched with Sidney last night and slept here. You fell asleep mid-transfusion and I didn't want to leave you in case you woke up confused."

"What time is it?"

"Almost seven."

Hawkeye sat up, groaning. "I slept for eleven hours?"

B.J. shrugged and smiled. "Out like a light." He studied his friend's face for a long while. "How're you feeling?"

"Good," he murmured, standing carefully. "Stiff. I think I spent too much time on my feet- and then too much time off of them; and not in a fun way."

B.J. laughed at the joke but noticed that Hawkeye's grin lacked much of the usual charm. "Breakfast?" he asked casually.

"Yeah," Hawkeye muttered. "Yeah."

The early morning meal was slightly less awkward than last night's dinner, when Hawkeye had self-consciously avoided the curious looks of the people who had heard he was back but hadn't yet had the pleasure. He had been painfully aware of Sidney watching him eat as he tried to stomach some potatoes and rice.

Now though, Hawkeye looked skeptically at his tray and his stomach turned. Eggs (powdered), something that resembled hash browns, and a small piece of sausage (probably World War II surplus). With a nudge from Sidney, he reluctantly agreed to a small glass of orange juice. It was watered down, nothing unusual for the 4077th, but it still stung his mouth and burned down his throat, and made his stomach do flips.

He started with the hash browns- the blandest thing on the tray, and the closest to the plain starches he was accustomed to after all this time. He winced as B.J. on his left and Father Mulcahy on his right liberally applied ketchup and salt to various parts of their meals. They offered him the condiments and he smiled tightly and refused politely as he could.

The worst part was possibly that no one quite knew how to interact with him. He and B.J. had talked for a long time the prior day, and B.J. maintained a natural tone somewhere in between doctor and best friend who simply hadn't seen Hawkeye in a while, but the awkward pauses were still there. Hawkeye asked how Peg and Erin were, and when he responded, it was all too clear that B.J. felt awful that there even _were_ four months during which Hawkeye didn't get weekly updates on them.

Hawkeye tore a small piece of sausage off with his fork and chewed it thoughtfully. The texture made him slightly nauseous- more so than he was already and every other time he ate- but he wasn't sure if that was just because it was bad food. He forced himself to wash it down with a small sip of orange juice.

"Hey, fellas," Sidney's mild voice made Hawkeye look up as the psychiatrist took a seat opposite them. "Mind if I join you?" The three sat in silence for a few minutes. "How'd you both sleep?"

Hawkeye's stomach turned again. The eggs he had just swallowed were a bit too rubbery to pass as real food. "Excuse me," he muttered over B.J.'s friendly response. He stood and quickly- but casually, he hoped- walked outside. There was a cool breeze that did wonders, and he wandered in a few circles outside the tent before slipping around the side of the building and leaning heavily against a support beam.

A minute passed, maybe two. "Hawk?" He turned sharply.

"You taking over for Sidney?" he asked wryly.

"I was worried about you."

Inexplicable guilt flooded through Hawkeye. He couldn't figure out the source. "Yeah- sorry," he mumbled. "What can I say- the fare was much better at the three-oh-ninth." He was under no delusions that B.J. would see through the lie- half-truth, at any rate- but mercifully the other man didn't comment.

"You push it too far?" B.J. finally asked when Hawkeye volunteered no further information.

"I don't know. Maybe."

"Need to puke?"

He smiled sardonically. "No- not yet, anyway. I just- I can't explain it. How hard it is to eat the simplest of things. It's embarrassing, Beej."

"Everyone understands. Don't be embarrassed."

"How many of 'everyone' watched me walk out of there just now?"

B.J. was quiet for a long time. Eventually, he took a seat on the ground. "Want to sit?" Hawkeye did, only struggling for a second with his sore leg. "Want to tell me about it?"

"No. Yes. No." He sighed. "Yes," he said firmly. "It's just… my stomach is a shambles, Beej. Milk is too heavy; coffee is too strong; juice is too acidic. Meat? It rolls around in there for hours before I feel normal again. Sidney has been trying to get me to eat more for days, and I can't stomach much beyond simple carbs- filling, but not quite the nutritious content he's looking for."

"You'll get there," his friend said quietly and confidently. Hawkeye smiled his thanks and grasped B.J.'s arm like a lifeline.

**Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. **

"How's that crisis of faith coming, Father?" Father Mulcahy looked around and saw Sidney Freedman fall in step beside him.

"Ah! Sidney," the priest smiled. "I was wondering when you were going to bring that up. And to answer your question, I've never felt better." He looked up, deep in thought. "After you and I talked, I spent a long time meditating and praying about my thoughts and feelings."

"That work for you?" the psychiatrist smiled.

Father Mulcahy almost looked affronted. "Of course! I just needed to sort out what I held to be true and really think about the way my instinctive reaction to the crisis conflicted with that." He smiled sadly. "If Job could make it through the ultimate of tests between the Lord and evil, I don't know why I shouldn't." His tone was resolute, and Sidney was proud of the young but earnest clergyman.

"Besides," Father Mulcahy leaned in conspiratorially, "clearly faith paid off!"

**Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. **

"Breathe, Hawk," B.J. murmured as he slowly inserted the I.V. that night. "What's wrong? Am I hurting you?"

"No," the tense man waved his hand dismissively. "Sorry. Just losing my marbles." B.J. smiled but Hawkeye could tell he was confused at his sudden distaste for needles. "You have rounds in post-op?"

"Yup," he nodded, standing and removing his gloves. "Shouldn't take long, only a few patients. The war is still slow down on our end. Want me to come right back, or you going to go straight to sleep again?"

He considered momentarily. "I can't say no to voluntary company," he finally said, avoiding a direct answer, but B.J. smiled.

"I'll see you soon then."

When B.J. came back, Hawkeye was reading a piece of paper. He looked up and put the sheet down almost guiltily. "Sorry- I saw this in the Swamp yesterday." B.J. looked and saw an envelope sitting on the bed next to him. It was the letter Trapper had returned in March. "I didn't mean to intrude on your correspondence, but the surprise of seeing Trapper's name…" he trailed off, shrugging uncomfortably.

"Everything there by the still is for you, Hawk," B.J. pointed out quietly. "I was thinking about writing him tonight, let him know you were alright and headed stateside soon."

"I was thinking about writing him, but only to give him the most ridiculous answer to what B.J. stands for."

"What's that?"

"I'll let you know when I think of it." Hawkeye leaned back and closed his eyes. He looked calmer than when B.J. left. "Sometimes," he spoke up after a minute, "I would wake up at the three-oh-ninth and the room would be pitch black and I'd be alone… and I'd forget where I was and think I was back… there."

"I'm sorry, Hawk. I wish we had known sooner, that I could have gone out there…"

"I was alone, you know? I don't know how long. It felt like an eternity. The only time I would see a face was when they intermittently decided to dump some food or water in the room- or the periodic visits of Syn Paik." B.J. nodded. Hawkeye had told him about Syn showing up partway through his imprisonment. "I never appreciated the tediousness of always being surrounded by people here until I was surrounded by no one and nothing but my own thoughts." He stopped to think. "I guess that's when it started."

"When what started?"

"The loss of my marbles."

B.J. frowned. "I thought you said there were a dozen other prisoners recovered at the same time as you?" A brief look crossed Hawkeye's face that suggested to B.J. that he was struggling between wanting him to ask, but not really wanting to just bring it up. "Why were you alone, Hawk? Individual suite service?" he teased gently, and was relieved when Hawkeye smiled lightly in response and relaxed a little.

"I was very rational," Hawkeye murmured slowly, "in those first weeks. I told you how three other men were captured near the aid station? That two were injured, and died from the wounds after we were all marched for an entire night across half of Korea?"

"You did. You never told me about the third man though."

"I couldn't save him. I mean, I couldn't save the first two either, but that was completely out of my hands. They were already bleeding, and I could do nothing with my wrists bound, being dragged along, limping, behind some sadistic Korean soldier." B.J. looked away, uncomfortable at the distinct image. "But the third- he never said it, but I could see it in his eyes. He thought I could do something, thought he was lucky, getting sick with a doctor right there with him."

B.J. nodded slowly. "What was wrong with him?"

"Pneumonia. I think bacterial- maybe fungal. I had nothing to treat it! The best I could do was help him keep up his strength, give him food and water, keep him as comfortable as possible… but it didn't matter. He drowned in his own fluid in his lungs. I sat there and held him and listened to him cough and wheeze himself to death."

"You couldn't have done anything for him either," B.J. pointed out softly.

Hawkeye closed his eyes and sighed. "I know- I think. But why him? I was already hurt, just like the other two. I mean yeah, my wound wasn't as bad- but Willard… he was a private, Beej, just a kid. Nineteen and in perfect health- until he wasn't, that is."

"You're young and healthy." Their eyes met and both put a silent 'were' in that sentence instead. "Survivor's guilt is nothing to be ashamed of, Hawkeye."

He laughed unpleasantly. "It wasn't guilt- it was fury. I've never been so angry in my life as when they came to take the body. I yelled, threw things, attacked with my bare hands… me, can you believe that? But that's when I started to understand."

"Understand what?"

"That it wasn't a matter of if- it was when."

"When you would die?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "I mean, we all do eventually, right? Being a North Korean POW only sped up the process for some. So I figured what was the point in delaying the inevitable. Like I said- I was calm, rational. Once I got beyond the yelling, that is."

B.J. looked distinctly uncomfortable at the direction the conversation had taken. "You couldn't give yourself pneumonia, Hawk."

Hawkeye looked sharply up and him and looked like he wanted to say something. He just shook his head though and lay back again. "No," he murmured after a long silence, "I guess not."

When B.J. removed the cannula from Hawkeye's arm an hour later, his friend was fast asleep. He studied him for a long time before he slept himself.

It couldn't be denied that Hawkeye was painfully thin- that had been the first thing he'd registered after overcoming the shock and elation of seeing him alive in the first place. Sidney said his face had filled out a bit, but the rest of him was still skin and bone, and B.J. had forcibly bitten back an exclamation that morning when Hawkeye undressed and donned fresh fatigues for the day.

His arms were a mess of bruises from I.V.s and transfusion lines, and B.J. had been hard pressed to locate a good vein the prior night because of it. Hawkeye had tried to repress it, but he had been irritable and discomfited during that whole procedure too.

He stashed the equipment and removed his gloves before taking off his own outerwear and preparing to catch a few hours of shut-eye himself. Before he did, however, he tucked the blanket firmly around Hawkeye and kissed him lightly on the forehead. Hawkeye shifted slightly in his sleep and his arm slipped from the edge of the cot and dangled inches above the floor of the tent. Smiling, B.J. went to slide his arm back under the blanket with the rest of him, but as he did so, a slip of paper fell from Hawkeye's hand. He picked it up and stared for several seconds. It was the note he had written the same day he got the letter from Trapper. He set it down on the bedside table, drew on his bathrobe, and stepped outside, breathing heavily for a few minutes before he calmed himself enough to try to sleep.

**Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. **

_20 April 1953_

"Hey, Sidney."

"B.J… how are things? You want your old bed back?"

B.J. shook his head. "And put up with Winchester again? Not a chance." They both laughed. "No, I'm going to spend as much time with Hawk as I can or he wants." He looked away. "Nothing can take back the hell that was these last four months, but I swear to God, I'm going to be there for him now, whatever he needs- a friend, a doctor…"

"A psychiatrist?" Sidney winked.

B.J. blinked. "I listen when he wants to talk."

"That's pretty much the job, son."

"Hm… well I don't know about that. But while we're on the subject…" he paused. "Do you know what his deal with the blood transfusions is?"

Sidney looked thoughtful. "That's interesting," he murmured. "You too? I've been trying to figure that one out. He was difficult about them at the three-oh-ninth, but I initially thought it was the nurses… a certain mistrust of authority, so to speak."

"But now? Is it the blood?"

For a long time, Sidney was quiet, putting some pieces together, mixing them up, and rearranging them all over. "I think," he finally said, "that you'll have to figure that one out on your own."

"Uh-oh. Am I breaching confidentiality clauses here?"

"Maybe. But I'm also not sure myself. Hawkeye's emotional traumas are many-fold. Things he's seen, that people have said, that have happened to him… things he did to himself." B.J. looked interested at that comment but remained silent. "I spent ten days delving into some of these, but he's complex and I think some of his problems have many layers to them. The food issue- it's physical _and_ psychological, and that's just one example."

"Sidney… you said 'things he did to himself'? Hawkeye said a couple of things that worried me a little… about others dying, and death itself…"

The psychiatrist patted B.J. on the shoulder. "He's still trying to cope with how he felt in there. I don't think it means anything _now_, per say. Talk to him, B.J. I think he wants your approval more than anyone else's in this war, and he couldn't have picked someone better."

"Gosh, Sidney, you're making me blush."

"I mean it! You're a natural at talking and listening, and comforting when he needs it. You took charge of his medical profile without him really realizing it, and I think that makes him much more comfortable with you than me. Especially at the three-oh-ninth, it was hard to fine the line between friend and doctor sometimes."

B.J. regarded the other man contemplatively for a bit. "Come on," he finally said. "Buy you breakfast? I'm supposed to meet Hawkeye there in a few minutes."

**Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. **

"Choppers! We've got incoming wounded, people!"

B.J. turned and gave Hawkeye an exasperated look. They were sitting in the mess tent, B.J. sipping a mug of luke-warm and bad coffee, Hawkeye drinking a small cup of orange juice that was watered down slightly so as to not bother his stomach as much.

"Guess all good things must end eventually." B.J. realized that these were the first casualties in about two weeks, and those two weeks had been wonderful- especially since Hawkeye and Sidney had showed up. It was one of those periods that was peaceful and relaxing enough that one could _almost _forget that he was right in the middle of a war.

Klinger popped his head in the nearly empty tent. "Sounds like it'll be a fairly light load," he said hurriedly to B.J. "Colonel Potter is headed up to the pad to get the chopper patients, the buses should be pulling into the compound soon, he asked if you can come do triage while Major Winchester and Captain Lyle scrub up?"

B.J. stood and nodded. "Sure thing, Klinger," he said, abandoning the mostly empty mug. Hawkeye stood and somewhat awkwardly left the mess tent with him, knowing that he was forbidden from even aiding in triage and pre-op duties, but his damned Hippocratic oath made it hard to just walk away. He was about to slink away to the VIP tent when something occurred to B.J. "Oh, Hawk? We haven't done your transfusion yet tonight. Why don't you do it in post-op? You can set it up yourself, and someone will be around if you have a reaction or fall asleep before you're done."

"Oh," Hawkeye faltered, smiling tightly. "Yeah, right. Sure."

And then he was gone, and B.J. ran after the bus that came tearing into the compound. He gave little further thought to Hawkeye for the next couple of hours as he finished triage and then scrubbed up himself, taking over the far table in the O.R. with Colonel Potter, Charles, and Lyle. It was a reasonably short session, only three hours, and he left the O.R. in good spirits, removing his soiled gown and gloves and tossing them casually into the waiting bin.

"Captain Hunnicut?"

He turned at the soft voice. "Yes, Ward?"

She looked apprehensive. "I thought I should tell you- Dr. Pierce didn't have his transfusion in post-op."

"Oh," he was surprised. "He didn't show?"

"Well," the nurse stammered, "that's the thing- he did, but… I offered to do it for him and he refused, so I let him be… but after a while, I looked over at the bed and realized that he wasn't starting it on his own either. He was just sitting there, staring at the needle in his hand and he looked…"

"Yes?"

She shrugged. "I can't describe it. He was bothered, or disturbed… anyway, I asked if he was alright, and he practically ran out of post-op not a minute later."

B.J. sighed heavily. It seemed that he and Sidney weren't imagining anything at all. "Thanks, Lieutenant," he finally said. "I'll take care of it."

Thoughts and speculations filled his mind as he trudged wearily to the VIP tent, stretching out his aching shoulders and back as he walked. He tapped once at the door of the tent before entering. "Hawk?" But he wasn't there. Frowning, B.J. quickly changed into some less grungy clothing and headed towards the Swamp instead.

"Ah- Hunnicut," Charles drawled as he walked in, disappointed to find the tent empty otherwise. "I was told to inform you that Major Freedman and Pierce are roaming the compound, if you are looking for them."

"When did they leave?"

Charles shrugged. "Ten minutes ago, perhaps? Pierce came in not long after I returned from O.R. Looked a tad frazzled." He paused and looked a bit uncomfortable. "Hunnicut… how is he?"

"Hm?"

"Pierce. How is he? He hasn't been terribly forthcoming with me and I'd hate to… pry."

If B.J. hadn't been mildly concerned about Hawkeye's well-being at the moment, he might have found Charles' concern more endearing. "He's hurting, but he's getting better. He feels like the elephant in the room right now, as much as he tries to pretend everything is alright- he knows that everyone is just worried about him, but, being Hawkeye, it makes him uncomfortable."

"How long will he stay here?"

B.J. shrugged. "Until he wants to leave, or Sidney sends him home, I guess."

"Home? As in- home?"

"Of course!" B.J. snorted. "Good lord, Charles, you don't expect the army would make someone who had been a POW for that long stick around this god-forsaken place longer than necessary, do you?"

"I- no," he looked flustered. "It's just… hard to imagine, isn't it? Pierce is a rock, the idea that he would no longer be deemed fit for service…"

A soft laughter came floating through the mesh walls of the tent. "Fit for service," Hawkeye mused, walking in, Sidney right behind, "Never thought about it like that, Chuck."

Charles winced at the detested nickname. "Pierce- forgive the gossip-mongering." Hawkeye waved him off, eyes on B.J. anyway.

"Care to join me in our temporary and humble abode?"

"I'm not that kind of a boy, Hawkeye," B.J. smiled lightly. Together, they said their goodnights to Sidney and Charles, and headed slowly to the VIP tent. B.J. noted happily that Hawkeye was walking better, he hardly noticed the limp anymore. "How are you doing?" he asked quietly when the door was shut behind them.

Hawkeye looked up at him with a deer in the headlights expression for the briefest of moments before he adopted a more relaxed expression and gave one of his trademark impish grins. "Getting complacent in my old age," he remarked wryly. "Didn't even jump on Winchester for talking about me when I wasn't there to critique myself alongside him."

"Not to mention you've developed a fear of needles?"

A long and stony silence followed B.J.'s observation, and for a minute, he thought Hawkeye would be angry or upset with him. "Guess I had that coming," he finally murmured. "Was it that obvious?"

"Lucky guess," B.J. replied quietly. "Lieutenant Ward told me you left post-op in quite a hurry. Look, Hawk," he moved to sit beside him on the narrow cot, "you could have talked to me about it the first night, if you were uncomfortable…"

"Nah," Hawkeye shook his head. "It's not… I knew that if I'd be okay with anyone handling things, it'd be you."

Another silence fell, and B.J. was touched, though not entirely sure how to respond or what his friend even meant by the compliment. "I'm not sure I understand," he finally said.

Hawkeye slumped backwards against the side of the tent. "God, Beej," he muttered, passing a hand over his eyes, "how can I even begin…?"

"The beginning?" B.J. suggested quietly, smiling softly.

"A couple of years ago, back when Henry and Trapper were still here, Radar was bitten by a dog that used to hang around camp," Hawkeye murmured. "We couldn't find the dog for a few days, and Radar had to start the rabies vaccinations." B.J. just nodded, lost as to the relevance of the anecdote. "He was miserable- a few shots and he was laying in bed, convinced he was dying. He grew out of it a bit in the end, but he was absolutely terrified of shots, needles, IVs…"

"He wouldn't be the first or last to come through this camp like that," B.J. pointed out mildly.

"Of course not," Hawkeye quickly agreed. "And any doctor worth his salt is trained how to deal with people like that. My dad was always impressed at how well I did it… I could make little kids laugh so hard they didn't even notice until after they received their shot. I could smooth-talk middle-aged women and get them so flustered that they forgot why they were there at all."

B.J. smiled but still didn't understand.

"At first, it seemed wrong to me, tricking people into not noticing that I was sticking a sharp instrument into their bodies- like I was violating their consent, even though I already had it…"

"But then you reassure yourself that you know what's for their own good, medically, and you forget those feelings eventually," B.J. finished for him.

Hawkeye nodded and looked thoughtful for a long time. "But don't you think people take it for granted that it _is_ what's best? What if the doctor messes up? Like Charles did, when he couldn't read the bottle he was drawing from, and gave a kid curare instead of morphine. Or if they pierce the vein, and you end up with a big bruise instead of medicine in your system. Or if they screw up and don't draw it right, and get an air pocket in the syringe by accident."

He was rambling, and B.J. was getting a little worried. He briefly pondered taking Hawkeye back to Sidney, but then remembered two things- first, that Hawkeye had clearly just talked to Sidney; second, what Sidney had told him about being Hawkeye's choice of approval or support, or whatever it was he wanted right now.

"A tiny little air pocket," Hawkeye murmured. "It seems almost silly that such a thing could be fatal."

"Hawk, you know that all doctors and nurses are trained very well on how to avoid that- and you know damn well that you'll never get an air embolism from an I.V. drip line."

Hawkeye nodded. "Of course I know that- which is why I'm convinced that I'm crazy. Sidney doesn't think so though, not yet."

"You're afraid of dying from an I.V.?" B.J. frowned. Hawkeye sat and said nothing, closing his eyes. "No," he thought aloud, "not the I.V.- it _is_ the needle you hate, isn't it. Why, Hawk?" Nothing. "You never had this problem before."

"Doctors protect life," he murmured softly. "Right? That's the ultimate code, the infamous Hippocratic Oath. They don't save themselves and leave patients to die."

"You didn't, Hawk- you tried your best." B.J. had heard some of the story about Bradley already, and his gut twisted unpleasantly just thinking about how easily everything could have been avoided if it weren't for that weasel of a medic.

"If he could be so worried about himself, why couldn't I?" Hawkeye continued as though B.J. had said nothing. "He chose the easiest escape. I guess that's what made the decision easier- if he could do it, why not me?"

"Do what, Hawk? What easy escape?"

A long silence ensued, and after a few minutes, B.J. wasn't even sure if Hawkeye was still awake. When he shifted on the cot though, Hawkeye's eyes flew open, and they were red and wet.

"They say that suicide is painless; maybe it is, but the needle hurt like hell, and that's all I could ever remember for the weeks afterwards, whenever I would think back about what I did- what I _tried_ to do," his voice was suddenly bitter.

"You tried to kill yourself," B.J. surmised, and Hawkeye flinched at his blunt, unquestioning tone. "With a needle?"

"I stole it off a North Korean doctor," Hawkeye whispered. "The one Syn later replaced. I sat there in the dark for hours, trying to decide what to do with it. Why should I deserve to live, when everyone else who came in with me died? But then the others who had come in since, why should they be made to stay and suffer? Where was their easy out?"

"What happened?" B.J. probed gently, realizing how desperately Hawkeye needed to talk about this.

He shrugged. "I took it from where I hid it in my boot, made sure it was empty but for that big pocket of air, carefully chose a vein… and I knew it was going to happen, and I was calm and content with that knowledge, and I thought about my dad; and Trapper and Henry; I thought about you, and what you'd say," he admitted wryly. "And then… I failed. A damn doctor couldn't even kill himself with a syringe. Someone saw and yelled, I dropped it, the guards dragged me off to solitary confinement, in a manner of speaking. Before I was gone, I saw the man's face, the one who yelled- I think he felt guilty for stopping me, but the shock of the thing…

"I tried to kill myself with a tool I was trained to use to save lives," he mused aloud. "Isn't that wrong, perverted?"

"Everything about the situation was wrong," B.J. said, placing a reassuring hand on Hawkeye's knee. The other man reached down and clasped the hand tightly. "I'm glad you're here now though."

When he finally started the transfusion an hour later, B.J. noted with interest that Hawkeye was visibly calmer than he had been during any of the prior nights in which they had done this.

**Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. **

_23 April 1953_

"Hawkeye, _please_ sit down," Sidney sighed for the fifth time in an hour. "You're making me nervous."

He groaned and sat heavily back at the table in the mess tent. "I just feel so- so useless," he muttered. "They've been at it for ten hours already, how many more casualties can there be?"

"You know as well as anyone that ten hours isn't even a long stretch for this unit, you've gone three days without more than coffee breaks and half-hour naps before. Look, they haven't taken anyone new in for a few hours, I'm sure it won't be too much longer."

As if on cue, to spite Sidney, a vehicle could be heard tearing into the compound. "Help! I need a doctor!"

Hawkeye threw a look at Sidney and the two rushed out to the jeep where a young sergeant was laid up in the back, blood flowing freely from his chest which was poorly covered in a saturated bandage. Cursing, Hawkeye ran around to better see the wound. "Corpsmen!" he yelled, and then turned to Sidney. "Sidney, go see who has a free set of hands- preferably Charles, possible pneumothorax here, and there's way too much blood, I think the aorta might have been nicked…" Sidney ran off and Hawkeye turned to the nurse who came running from post-op. "Start him on whole blood, stat. Pump it in, he's already started to go into shock and he doesn't have much time to sit around and stabilize."

The corpsmen loaded the unconscious sergeant onto a litter and carried him slowly into pre-op. Sidney met them in the doorway. "Hawkeye, Charles is in the middle of a tricky resection with some complications, he says he'll need at least an hour."

"He doesn't have that long," Hawkeye muttered, checking the young man's pulse- it was faint but still there. "Potter? B.J.?"

"Lyle is the only one with a free hand."

"He a chest cutter?"

"No. But he says he can finish for B.J. and let B.J. take the chest; or the Colonel."

Hawkeye stared at the face of the pale and unconscious man before him for as long as he dared. B.J. was a good surgeon, but he wasn't a thoracic expert; nor was Colonel Potter. He went to run a hand through his unnaturally short hair, stopping abruptly when he realized his hand was now coated in another's blood. The sight snapped him out of his thoughts and he stood quickly and barked orders to the nurse. "Prep him, get another three units of whole blood on standby. And I want Margaret to assist, I don't care what she's doing right now."

He turned and headed for the scrub room, vaguely aware of Sidney's feet hurrying to catch up.

"Hawkeye- Hawk…?"

"What?" he whirled in the doorway.

"You know I can't let you operate."

Hawkeye blinked three times before his mind caught up to what was going on around him- and he found that he didn't care.

"You haven't seen the inside of an O.R. for more than four months, you aren't used to the physical and mental exertion that goes along with a surgery this complicated. You could faint, your leg could stiffen up or give out while you're digging around in this poor kid's chest…"

"Which is why the spare surgeon will be standing by and ready to take over, and the head nurse will be assisting."

"It won't bring back any of the others you couldn't save," Sidney murmured quietly.

Hawkeye let out an incredulous bark of laughter. "You think that's what this-? Sidney, I'm going to save _this_ kid's life, so get out of my way before I try to make you. Or you can make yourself useful and scrub up."

A few terse seconds passed before Sidney nodded and followed Hawkeye into the scrub room. When they were both as sterile as one could achieve at the 4077th, they proceeded into O.R. Hawkeye had gloves and was in the process of having a gown draped around him before anyone noticed he was there.

"What are you- Pierce!"

"Hiya, Chuckles," he muttered distractedly as the patient was carried in and placed on the table closest to him.

"Why you- Colonel! He can't be in here!"

B.J. stepped away from his patient as Lyle took over. "Cool it, Charles," he bit. "Hawk?" he asked quietly, stepping up next to him.

"They took a lot away from me, Beej, but not this."

"Hunnicut?" the colonel finally spoke up from across the room. He looked questioningly at the younger surgeon. B.J. hesitated and then shook his head in affirmation. Colonel Potter sighed and nodded once sharply, and Hawkeye knew that was all the blessing he needed.

Margaret donned a fresh pair of gloves and stepped up beside the instrument tray. "Ready, doctor," she murmured. B.J. stood next to Hawkeye and after a few moments' silence, he turned to his friend.

"That's you, chief," he prompted.

Hawkeye nodded and took a deep breath.

"Scalpel."

**Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. **

When they reached the VIP tent, Hawkeye sank down on the cot and closed his eyes. "Is it just me, or is Korea wobbling a bit?"

"I told you it wasn't a good idea." Hawkeye waved Sidney off.

B.J. sat down heavily next to Hawkeye. "Aw, leave him be, Sidney," he muttered, yanking off his boots. "It was a damn fine operation and you know it."

Sidney smiled and nodded, thinking for a while. "Then again," he mused, "maybe that was just what you needed. After everything, operating on a young kid like that… cathartic, perhaps?"

"Has anyone ever told you you're crazy?" Hawkeye slumped against B.J.

Sidney laughed. "Me? Let's see… I tell it to myself almost every day, for starters."

"Mmm… what time is it?" B.J. murmured, eyes struggling to stay open.

"Just after midnight," Sidney said evenly.

"In other words, way past my bedtime," Hawkeye yawned. "Don't move, Beej," he instructed as the other man made to stand, "you make a satisfactory pillow…"

B.J. smirked wryly. "Only satisfactory? I'm offended- come on, Hawk. Let's get you supine, eh?"

"I've been trying that for years, but you always turn me down."

"My god, he _is_ delirious," B.J. muttered to Sidney as he maneuvered his friend into a better position.

"I resent that," came the sleepy retort. "And I'll show you who's delirious… in the morning…"

Sidney shrugged. "Care for a nightcap?"

For a moment, B.J. considered it, before he shook his head and smiled fondly down at his friend. "No thanks, Sidney, I feel as beat as he looks."

"Hey," Hawkeye mumbled, barely coherent, "I resent that too…"

"Go to sleep, Hawkeye."

**A/N:** One more chapter and an epilogue after this, for those who are keeping score


	4. Chapter 4

**Part IV**

_26 April 1953_

"Hey, Hawkeye," Sidney slid in next to him in the mess tent. "I've got something-"

"Sidney Freedman! Psychiatrist extraordinaire of the Orient! How are you?"

The older man looked warily between the two young and mischievous surgeons. "I sense a trick up a sleeve or two- dare I ask what I've just walked into?"

A glance was shot between the two as they seemed to size him up.

"Think he can be trusted?" B.J. asked quietly behind his hand.

"Hm," Hawkeye eyed him up and down, "depends- what brings you to this venue of fine-cuisine, you knave?"

"Knave?" Sidney asked in mock offense.

Hawkeye shook his head. "Definitely not to be trusted."

"Oh, I don't know, he could prove useful…"

"Absolutely not; he has a shifty look about him."

"What's wrong with shifty? We could use-"

"Hawkeye!" Sidney's amused voice rose over the banter. "You can go home."

A half-minute of silence stretched out between the three. "Say again?" Hawkeye finally asked, turning his head and cupping his ear. "I think I must have misheard you, the bad food is blocking my ear canals…"

"I signed your travel orders this morning."

Hawkeye's mouth opened and closed several times. B.J. clapped him on the back but he barely registered the touch. "Home? You mean… home? Maine?"

"None other than."

"So…" his tone was hesitant, almost frightened, "I'm… healed, or whatever?"

Sidney shrugged. "With flying colors. Your hemoglobin level is just back into the healthy range, you've gained back twenty-five pounds of the forty-five you lost, you're eating at an almost-normal level. That's not to say that you shouldn't continue to monitor your progress, but you are well within army recovery and travel regulations."

"But I thought you said… I've only been here a week!"

"You can stay longer if you'd like," Sidney pointed out wryly, "but your recovery rate has improved drastically since you arrived."

Hawkeye just sat and stared at him for a long time. Finally, a huge grin spread across his face. "Home," he murmured. "Crabapple Cove, here I come! When can I leave?"

"Tomorrow if you'd like; Kimpo to Tokyo to Honolulu; a ship to San Francisco, and then on to Portland, Maine. You'd be there in three or four days."

"Can I see the orders? Touch them?"

Sidney laughed and handed them over. Hawkeye smelled the paper reverently before opening it and scanning it, giggling boyishly. He shot a brief glance at B.J. who was looking at the wall, lost in thought. "Beej?"

"Hm? Oh, sorry- I was just thinking about the party we'll have to throw in your honor tonight," he grinned impishly.

"I want to call my dad," Hawkeye declared. "What time is it in the States?"

"Fourteen hours earlier in Maine," Sidney supplied helpfully.

"That would make it… um… if it's noon here, then it's… um…"

"Ten last night?" B.J. said. "Would your dad be awake?"

Hawkeye stood suddenly. "Who cares? He can wake up for this!"

**Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. **

"Knock knock."

Hawkeye looked up from his cot where he was going through his old foot locker and moving things into his army-issue duffel. "Hey, Beej."

"Need some help?"

Hawkeye waved him off. "It's just weird, you know… I forgot I even had some of this stuff."

"I have a present for you," B.J. said after a minute, "but you have to promise to wear it tonight."

"Is it a cake for me to pop out of?"

"Close."

He handed over the poorly wrapped package and Hawkeye tore off the brown paper quickly, laughing long and hard when he pulled out the proffered garment. "I forgot about it, if you can believe that."

"It only seemed appropriate- you will be going through Honolulu, after all."

Hawkeye quickly removed his fatigue jacket and donned the blue Hawaiian shirt. He turned a couple of times, modeling it. "What do you think?"

"Just as stylish as ever," B.J. grinned.

Hawkeye looked himself up and down and shook his head. "You know, when I got here, I would have flat-out refused."

"Why?"

"The uniform- it did wonders in making my scrawny self look a little less scrawny."

B.J. looked him over for a moment. "You look good, Hawk. Even from a week ago when you got here, you've filled out a lot. I don't think you need to worry."

"Hm," he murmured, sitting back on the cot. The two men sat across the small tent from each other and stared for a long while. "I notice you were awfully quiet this afternoon," he finally spoke again.

"How do you mean?"

"Come on, Beej- I looked at the orders, not to mention the hundreds I saw in my eternity here- they require three doctors' signatures. I couldn't help but notice that your John Hancock was big and prominent on there. You already knew I was going home by the time lunch came around. Why'd you wait for Sidney to tell me?"

B.J. shrugged. "Didn't want to say anything without knowing whether or not Colonel Potter supplied the third recommendation."

"You did the paperwork."

"How's that?"

"Yours was the first signature- the form is in your handwriting, you dated it from last night." B.J. was silent. "B.J., it's okay. Did you think I never noticed that, not only were you my best friend, but you were also a doctor? That you've been taking care of me since I've been back?"

He shifted awkwardly a few seconds before smiling tightly. "I guess I just didn't want you to feel like you were under observation the whole time you were here."

Hawkeye just smirked away the other's concerns. "Oh, Beej… we've been through a lot, you and me. You know?"

"Seems like we've known each other forever- it's hard to believe that it hasn't even been two years."

"I would have given anything to never have been drafted, just like the rest of everyone here; I would have given my left foot to go home when Trapper did, or Radar… and now- well, my experience here was never fun, but considering recent events," he sighed. "Okay, so I'm not being very eloquent here, but what I'm trying to say, Beej, is that if I had to be stuck here as long as I was, the only reason I survived it was because of you. I love the people here almost as much as I hate the place itself, but the only thing I'll really _miss_… is you."

B.J. smiled fondly. "You know- I'll never get over the way we showed up after you and Radar got me at Kimpo- bombed out of our minds, me calling Frank 'ferret face' before I ever even met the man. Margaret confessed to me a couple of months ago that she and Frank had high hopes for me."

"Oh yeah?"

"Scout's honor. Thought they'd model me into a junior Frank, that being fresh out of residency would make me very pliable."

"Well, it did- too bad I got to you first."

B.J. laughed. "Margaret also confessed that she's remarkably glad that they failed."

He hesitated for a moment, but Hawkeye couldn't refrain from asking. "So, you and Margaret…?"

"Definitely not." He sat back and reflected. "Those first days, when we still had an inkling of hope that you'd stumble in, drunker than hell, having lost track of while time drinking at the Officer's Club at the one-twenty-first or something… we spent a lot of time together. Just talking. Or sitting quietly."

"Or drinking?"

He shrugged. "We really hit the stuff hard on Christmas- and then on the day after, I disconnected the still, never hooked it up again. Haven't been drunk since, either, just the periodic night cap in the colonel's office. She spent the night in the Swamp on Christmas, and a couple of times after, before Lyle showed up, but there was never anything more to it than wanting the comfort of the presence of others."

"And… when did you switch cots?"

B.J. almost looked guilty for a moment. "The day before Lyle showed. I was sitting there, you'd been gone for almost a month- and I was so… so _angry_. I mean, I knew Colonel Potter couldn't avoid finding a new set of hands, but it felt like such a betrayal. I couldn't envision someone else in your little corner of the Swamp. And so, one day when Charles was in post-op, I just moved all of my stuff, and shuffled your things around. I figured if someone had to be there, it may as well be me and not some total stranger. And to Charles' credit, he didn't say a word when he walked in later that night."

"Attention! Attention! Could Hawkeye Pierce please report to his party in the mess tent!"

"Guess that's my cue," Hawkeye stood and offered his hand. "Come on- if we keep up the reminiscing, we'll never make it."

He was almost out the door before B.J. stopped him. "Wait, Hawk- one more thing? Will you meet Peg and Erin at the port of San Francisco?"

"That depends- are you going to clock anybody afterwards?"

**Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. **

_29 April 1953_

_Dear Beej,_

_I gave Peg that kiss you wanted- she wouldn't accept the kiss I wanted (so I guess you have nothing to worry about there, pal). I tried to give Erin one as well, but she kept gigging and hiding, so maybe you have something to worry about there, I think she might have a crush on yours truly. _

_I must say, B.J. Hunnicut- you are one lucky man. If I had ever met a gal half as wonderful as Peg in my life, maybe I'd have settled down with a family by now too. I only spent two hours with the woman, but it seemed like I'd known her as long as I've known you; it was amazing how much of the two hours we spent just comparing notes on each other that we'd heard through you. Don't worry- I only mentioned the good things (in other words, everything except her cooking abilities). _

_I know that you worry about missing these early parts of Erin's life, but hold tight, Beej- when you do come home, you'll be coming home to the two sweetest girls I've ever had the pleasure of meeting. Erin is barely two, and all she talked about (and believe me, she talked a LOT once she got over the shyness) was her soldier daddy who was helping people who couldn't help themselves. And Peg's a rock- she seemed torn between laughter and tears most of the time we were there, but she always had a smile on her face, just imagining you playing your pranks, or saving some young kid's life…_

_It's late now- I'm on my flight to Portland as I write this, I'm due to land just after eleven in Maine (though what time that is for you in Korea, or Peg in California, I really can't keep straight anymore- traversing half the world in two days is harder than I remembered) which is pretty late but my dad assures me he can stay awake for me. I know my dad though, and highly suspect that, even after two days of almost no sleep and nonstop travel, I'll be driving home. Fortunately, it's not a long drive to Crabapple Cove from Portland._

_The pilot says we're flying over Chicago soon- geography was never my strong suit, but I reckon that means we'll fly not-far from Fort Wayne, and Toledo as well. I'll wave over the latter for Klinger… what I'll do over the former is not fit for print. _

_I'll try to get a bit of sleep now. I plan to send this off first thing tomorrow, which means you'll probably have it next year sometime. Hopefully, if that's the case, they'll have to forward it to you in Mill Valley. I'll try to get a line through in the meantime to let you all know I made it home safe and sound, but you know those phones…_

_Take care, Beej, and send my love to everyone (some more than others, if you know what I mean…)._

_Yours,_

_Hawkeye_

**Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. **

He woke with a start when the plane touched down, jolting alarmingly for a moment before coming to a slow stop. Hawkeye winced as the pressure in his ears adjusted.

Walking through the airport was like a dream- getting off the ship in San Francisco had merely been the appetizer, a taste of what was to come, but from the moment he walked the short distance from the steps of the small plane into the terminal, he knew he was home. Even the smell of the air screamed Maine.

The travel-worn passengers trudged the length of the small terminal with him, smiling as they approached the arrivals waiting area and found friends and relatives, the group breaking up as some left immediately, some sat and chatted, some waited around for bags. Hawkeye was the only person on the flight in military garb, and he ached to get out of the stiff dress uniform and into something- _anything_- else.

Thoughts and complaints quickly fled his mind when he spotted the lean man with grey hair, standing against a wall across the room. He slowly approached, legs still somewhat stiff from the long and cramped flight.

Words were impossible for the first minute or two as the two men observed each other, took note of the tolls of the past few years, and especially the hurts of the past few months; both were a little greyer, and a little thinner, but their smiles were bright enough to cover their mutual concern, even with unshed tears glistening in their eyes.

"Dad," Hawkeye murmured, pulling his father into a tight hug.

"Hi, Ben." It was the first time he could remember his father calling him Ben in years; to his dad, he had always been Hawk, or Hawkeye. Ben had been for his mother.

And that was it, for now- it was all they needed. The words, and stories, the tears, those would all come later, but for now, they reassured themselves of the others' presence and embraced for what felt an eternity, but no time at all, to Hawkeye.

"Let's find your bag, son."

The ride to Crabapple Cove was comfortably quiet, Daniel sensing his son's weariness and travel-induced exhaustion.

Daniel was about to put the key in the front door of the Pierce house. "Do you need anything before you go to sleep, Hawk? Hawkeye?" He turned and saw his son standing several feet back from the porch, just looking up at the house in the dark.

"No, dad, I'm fine," he murmured. "I just want to remember this moment forever."

**Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene**

_30 April 1953_

"You know," Hawkeye dipped his hand lazily in the icy cold water in the creek behind their house, "I was afraid that it would be a disappointment- that I was building up the perfection of home in my mind while I was gone. But being here, after almost three years away… I didn't do it justice." He took a deep breath. "The freshness, the crispness of the air… the greenness of the land- and I don't mean olive drab green, I mean real, vibrant green. Everything in Korea has a brownish-grey hue, no matter what color it is. Everything but the blood."

"Seems like you had some pretty amazing people to help color things up a little."

Hawkeye looked up at his father, who was leaning back on his elbows on the grass near the water's edge. "Colonel Potter says you kept in touch a bit," he commented idly.

"We exchanged a few letters; nothing big, just a friendly voice, as it were."

They sat in silence for a few long moments. "I'm so sorry, dad."

"Hawk…"

"No, I mean it. The hell you've been through on my account, and not just now- let us not forget the time you were told I was _definitely _dead, as opposed to this time of _probably_ dead."

"I can't deny the army is full of a bunch of nincompoops," Daniel shrugged tiredly. "But I can't complain about them getting that wrong, _both _times."

"Yeah, well…" Hawkeye trailed off and laid back on the grass once more, fingers still drifting idly in the stream. "You talk to anyone else? Besides Sidney, that is?"

Daniel was quiet for a minute before he said, "No one else in Korea."

"Oh?" Hawkeye asked. "Someone outside of Korea? Radar?"

He shook his head. "Trapper."

Hawkeye stared. "_You_ wrote _Trapper_?"

"Negative- he called me. Said he got a letter from your friend B.J. and wanted to know how I was holding up."

"Huh," he thought on that for a long minute. "That it?"

"Yes. Well, not exactly. He came to visit one weekend with his wife."

Hawkeye sat up quickly. "What? Trapper, who left without a note, drove three hours from Boston to see you? Wow."

"That he did; I must say, I can see why you got along so well with the fellow, though I imagine he toned things down for his wife's benefit. And she's lovely. You know," he said hesitantly, "I talked to him after I heard you were… you were safe. And he says he'd love to come up and visit again, and bring his girls too. If it's alright with you."

"Hm…" but Hawkeye wasn't thinking about possible social calls. He was reflecting on the day he rushed to Kimpo and missed his best friend by ten minutes, but somehow managed to acquire a new one in the process. He remembered the bitterness he'd felt after Radar said he was gone without saying goodbye, and he realized that now, after nearly two years… it didn't bother him anymore. Not after everything else.

He turned over and laid on his back, arms resting behind his head, gazing up at the clouds. How many times had he lain in this precise spot as a child, watching clouds drift lazily by, or imagining some fantastical adventure- or, when he was a bit older, thinking about his mother and wondering if she could see him there, beneath the heavens.

He couldn't remember ever being more at peace in this spot.

**A/N:** Thanks once more for reading, and hope you're enjoying. Check back for the last installment tomorrow :-)


	5. Epilogue

**A/N**: Thanks for following up to the end- hope you enjoy this last installment!

**Epilogue**

_26 July 1953_

"Oy! Kathy, you rascal…" The offending six-year-old giggled and allowed herself to be swept up into Hawkeye's arms. "I thought I said it was bedtime," he said in mock sternness. She just giggled harder.

"I couldn't sleep," she stated matter-of-factly.

He carried her towards the kitchen, where he had been heading himself, and plopped the pajama-clad girl on the counter. "Well that makes two of us," he admitted. "You know what the best cure for sleeplessness is?"

"What?"

"Well," he opened the refrigerator and began rummaging for necessary ingredients, "on cold winter nights, a hot cup of cocoa. On warm summer nights like this- a big glass of chocolate milk."

"Mommy doesn't let us have chocolate right before bed," she whispered.

Hawkeye turned and raised his brows. "Is that so?" she shook her head. "Well I'll tell you what- this will be our little secret, okay? I won't tell if you won't." The girl nodded and he went about concocting a big glass of milk for himself and a smaller one for Kathy. When he was finished, he led her quietly out onto the front porch, careful to shut the door softly behind them so as to not wake the sleeping Becky on the couch in the front room. For a long time they sat on the steps in silence, drinking their milk. Hawkeye was caught in memories of his childhood, playing outside on nights like this, cicadas loud in the summer heat, crickets chirping, light breezes rustling the leaves on the big oak tree in the front yard…

"Hawkeye?"

"Hm?" he turned to find Kathy's inquisitive face peering up at him.

"Why are you called that?"

"Why am I called Hawkeye?" he clarified. She nodded, brow furrowed, deep in contemplation beyond her years. "Well," he sat back, "it isn't my real name. It's a nickname; sort of like how your name is really Katherine, but everyone calls you Kathy."

"My grandma calls me Katherine," she interrupted and he smiled indulgently.

"Yes, well… the name Hawkeye comes from a book my dad likes, called 'The Last of the Mohicans.' Hawkeye is a character in it. My real name though is Benjamin."

She looked deep in thought for a moment. "There's a boy in my class named Benjamin. But everyone calls him Benny."

"Except his grandmother, I bet."

"What?"

"Never mind," he grinned as Kathy yawned widely. "You could call me Benny if you'd like. Some of my friends called me that when I was your age."

"Alright," she yawned again.

He took the empty cup from her hands and set it on the stoop next to him. "Would you like to go back to bed?"

She shook her head. "I like listening to the crickets," she murmured softly, clearly tired. "We went camping once after daddy came back from being far away and I liked staying up and listening to the crickets chirp. They annoyed Becky, but I liked them," the last bit was said with the pride that only a younger sibling can have in winning some imagined contest with the older children.

"When I was around Becky's age, some friends used to come visit and we would set up a tent right in the back yard, near that creek we played in yesterday. We would pack some crackers, and get water from the stream, and pretend we were out in the wilderness on a big adventure," Hawkeye's voice dropped as he reminisced, realizing how much of the past three years of his life _had_ been a big adventure; it wasn't so glorious as it was cracked up to be.

Moments later, Kathy clambered up into his lap, whether out of sleepiness or that innate sense some young children have of an adult being disquieted, Hawkeye was not sure. "Get some sleep," he murmured softly, even as her breathing already began to deepen, "I'll wake you if any big adventures come our way."

"Thanks… good night, Benny," she mumbled as she drifted slowly into unconsciousness, leaving Hawkeye alone with his thoughts.

Some minutes later, as he was beginning to contemplate getting the sleeping child in his arms back inside, he heard the door open behind him. Before he could turn, a low voice called out to him.

"That's a good look for you; ever consider getting one of your own?"

"Nah," he murmured softly as Trapper took up a seat in the same spot his daughter had recently vacated. "Just figured I'd borrow yours whenever I was feeling particularly paternal."

"Fine by me, but Louise might have something to say about it. Here," he reached over and gently lifted his daughter out of Hawkeye's tiring arms. She murmured something that sounded suspiciously like 'secret' and went back to sleep. "How's that?" Trapper smiled down at her.

"Sorry, we made a pact of silence. You and mommy aren't allowed to know of our late-night snack."

Trapper smiled wryly and stroked the top of Kathy's head. "I take it back- you have the makings of impish uncle instead. You know," he took a deep breath and looked around the darkened porch and yard, "I've lived in the city my whole life, but this is enough to make me reconsider. And I always thought you exaggerated your stories about this place."

"Finest kind," Hawkeye shook his head. "Best place for a kid to grow up- and in my dad's case, never leave even _after_ growing up."

"And how about you?" Trapper asked seriously. "Going to spend your days making Crabapple Cove say 'ah'?"

Hawkeye was contemplative for a long time. "For now," he allowed. "But I'm not sure about the long run. I've seen too much, far more than most people here can understand. I don't know that this small town can contain me for too long."

Trapper leaned back and regarded his friend seriously. "You're doin' alright, aren't you, Hawk?"

"Yeah," Hawkeye waved off his concern, "never better. I admit, I've had my days, but…" he trailed away and stared up at the sky. "It's good to see you again," he finally managed. "And Louise and the girls… just like I always pictured 'em in your letters and your stories."

"Do you ever have nightmares?"

Hawkeye stiffened but nodded. "That's nothing new though. Just ask Sidney Freedman, I started cracking up a long time ago."

"I had nightmares for a while," Trapper said lowly. "It was hard- I didn't want Louise to worry. Some nights I would lie there for hours, listening to her sleeping, unable to sleep anymore myself because of some picture I'd gotten in my head and couldn't get rid of."

"What'd you do about them?"

"Nothing. They got better with time. I just avoided thinking, reading, and talking about Korea and eventually it was almost like it never even…" he trailed off and looked away. "So many times in my head, I saw Radar come into O.R. and tell us that there was a plane crash over the Sea of Japan- and sometimes it was Henry, sometimes it was you, or the Padre… but the worst dreams of all were when it was me. I was standing there operating and yelling at them that I was fine, but no one could see or hear me, and then I'd be drowning in a sea of darkness…"

"The first week I was home," Hawkeye said slowly, "I woke up screaming three or four nights. Dad came and calmed me down every night, no matter what time it was. And then he'd fall asleep in the chair by the bed, like he used to when I was just a kid. Especially right after mom died, he spent so many nights in that chair…" he passed a hand over his eyes and laughed shakily. "Anyway, I won't claim to be cured of the boogey men, but I've learned my own limits, and know that some nights, I just need to wind down a little more before sleeping."

"Like tonight?"

He inclined his head in acknowledgement. "No rhyme or reason, just an overactive thought process, fixed with the childhood remedy of a big glass of chocolate milk. Oh," he looked ruefully at Kathy, "I guess I just ruined the secret."

"We just won't tell mommy then," Trapper laughed. "Come on," he stood and hoisted the girl with him. "Time for bed again."

They got her settled on the small sofa next to Becky's couch and headed up the stairs. They were about to part at the guest room where Trapper and his wife were sleeping when Daniel emerged from his room. He summoned the two over to him.

"You might want to listen to this, boys," he led them into Hawkeye's room and switched on the radio by the bed, tuning it and turning the volume up slightly. Static crackled for a few seconds before words emerged, crisp and clear.

"…signed in Panmunjon at ten a.m., local time. Again, the ceasefire will go into effect at ten p.m., giving these last hours to gain as much territory as possible. Ten p.m. in Korea, or eight a.m. Washington D.C. time, on July twenty-seventh will mark the end of this long police action. We'll have more figures for you soon, but right now…"

Hawkeye and Trapper stared at one another for several seconds.

"You mean… when we wake up tomorrow, the fighting will be done?" Trapper said tentatively. "For good?" Daniel nodded. "Wow. Peace. The real thing."

"They plan to have all personnel home or en route within a week," Daniel said. "All future correspondence can be postmarked U.S. of A.," he pointed out to Hawkeye. "Your next letter to B.J. will be with a Mill Valley address on it."

The word _peace_ kept ringing in Hawkeye's ears. Could it really be, only three months after he'd escaped Korea, that the whole war was coming to a close?

"I want to call the four-oh-seven-seven," he said suddenly, almost automatically. His dad shook his head sadly.

"Not a good idea, based on what the radio was saying- I guess since the armistice was signed, the fighting has intensified, as everyone is determined to do as much damage before ten p.m. Not to mention, everyone there is probably wanting to call here and tell their folks they're coming home, I doubt you'd get a line through. Maybe a telegram though?"

He considered that but ultimately decided to wait until morning; if things were as busy for the unit as his dad suggested they might be, it wouldn't matter if he waited a few more hours.

Peace. At last.

_THE END_

**A/N: **Thanks for reading, and I'd love to hear your thoughts ;-)


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